


Unsure and Certain

by Angelic_Temptress



Series: Uncertain Clarity [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Post Season 6, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:57:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9643523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelic_Temptress/pseuds/Angelic_Temptress
Summary: As Jon and Daenerys settle into their roles as monarchs in the North and South, it is their advisors who make the move to treat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own them. I just love them. 
> 
> This is cannon compliant through Season 6 - however, with all the leaks, my theories probably will not come to fruition.

**Tyrion**

The thunderous cracks of both Drogon and Viserion’s wings shook the stone floor as the dragons took flight outside the castle. The siege hadn’t lasted nearly as long as Tyrion predicted, but dragon fire, much like wildfire, had a habit of ending sieges.

He stepped into the Red Keep after Daenerys, exhausted from the ride into King’s Landing. Though he’d spent most of his life knowing this place, the throne room felt foreign to him, a dream that he vaguely recalled and a memory that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d been found guilty of murder here because the woman he loved had betrayed him and the father he had been cursed with had hated him.

Daenerys, in fine blue drapes, paused half way into the great room, no doubt to admire the throne she’d never seen but knew she craved. When he caught up to her, he realized it wasn’t the chair she’d fixated her gaze upon, but rather who kneeled before it.

“Jaime,” Tyrion uttered without thought when he recognized his crippled brother, on one knee and holding a limp body to his chest. His eyes were bloodshot and all the color had vanished from his face. Tyrion passed his Queen to stand between her and Jaime, trying to identify the lifeless woman in his arms. Although her hair had been cropped and her skin seemed much paler than he remembered, Tyrion knew Cersei lay dead. A crown and an empty wine chalice lay haphazardly beside them. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrion noticed another unmoving body dressed in black robes. “Jaime,” he repeated forcefully. This time, his brother acknowledged his voice.

He locked eyes with Tyrion for a moment, but quickly moved his attention to the silver Queen accompanying him. With a remorseful and yet handsome smile, Jaime carefully laid his twin on the ground and stood proudly. “Daenerys Targaryen, I presume.”

“Kingslayer,” she replied, her voice smooth and sharp as a steel blade.

Jaime bowed his head slightly. “I’m afraid it’s _Queenslayer_ now, Your Grace.”

As Daenerys narrowed her light eyes and stiffened her body, Grey Worm and a handful of Unsullied entered the Keep. If Jaime had planned to fight his way out, he would lose. With his sword hand, there may have been a match, but Tyrion hoped he wasn’t stupid enough to goad Daenerys or her men into a conflict.

“It seems I have prepared your seat for you, cleared it of the rubbish that thought themselves rulers.” He sidestepped Cersei’s corpse and extended his golden hand, as if presenting Daenerys with a prize. “It appears as if this is my purpose – to remove those unfit to govern. I hope the Iron Throne suits you better than it did your father or my sister.”

“Detain him,” the Queen commanded.

Two soldiers roughly seized his arms, but Jaime did not struggle. Tyrion may have even seen relief cross his features.

“My Queen,” Tyrion implored, “perhaps we place Ser Jaime in his room for the time being? We do not know what lies within the dungeon below the Keep.”

She looked to her Hand and nodded, warily. “I’ll allow it, but only as a courtesy to you, Tyrion.”

He smiled a moment before turning back to his brother who wore a crooked grin of his own. “It is good to have you home,” Jaime said as the warriors took him away.

++

**Sansa**

“A raven, Your Grace. From the capital.”

Sansa looked up from her beef and barley stew and to her brother. When the young boy handed Jon the parchment, he rotated it slightly to reveal a blood red sigil she had never seen before.

“A three-headed dragon?” she murmured, not quite sure what it meant and if the family even existed.

“Targaryen,” Ser Davos confirmed.

She felt her chest tighten, and the table fell silent. They’d heard the rumors of the conqueror Queen and her three dragons. After reforming Slaver’s Bay, she had turned her sights to Westeros and the Iron Throne that had been taken from her father, the Mad King.

Tormund, the redheaded wildling, seemed indifferent to the news and continued eating in blissful ignorance. No one else moved. Podrick, Brienne, Jon, and Ser Davos shared the same look of bewilderment that she surely wore on her own face. Jon’s dark eyes focused on Sansa as he broke the seal and unrolled the paper.

“Lord Snow and Lady Stark of Winterfell:

“King’s Landing is now under the rightful rule of Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of her Name; Queen of Dragon’s Bay, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men; Lady Regent of the Seven Kingdoms; Protector of the Realm; Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Mhysa, the Unburnt, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons – ”

“Bloody Hells, that’s a mouthful,” Tormund interrupted with half of a crust of stale bread in his mouth.

“For crying out loud, you uninformed – ”

Sansa placed a hand over Brienne’s forearm, to quiet both her frustrations and her fears. She then signaled Jon to continue.

“Queen Daenerys has the support of Dorne, Houses Tyrell and Greyjoy, an army of Dothraki and Unsullied soldiers, and three full-grown Dragons.

“The capital still stands, its people free of the tyranny suffered under Baratheon and Lannister law. The false Queen, Cersei Lannister, was slain by Ser Jaime Lannister before she could stand trial for her crimes.”

Sansa felt a soft laugh escape her lips as relief enveloped her body. The Starks had one less enemy now, and she doubted many shed tears for the Lannister Queen.

Brienne’s face, however, turned even paler, and her mouth hung slightly agape. Sansa moved to clutch the woman’s hand in her own, knowing her guardian held some feeling for the Kingslayer. If the sentiment was friendship, respect, or something more, Sansa did not know.

Jon swallowed and continued reading, “I know House Stark to embody great honor, and it is why I have suggested our Queen treat with your family. Together, we can bring peace to Westeros once again.

“In solidarity,

“Tyrion of House Lannister, Hand of the Queen.”

Podrick perked up, “Lord Tyrion?”

“ _Hand of the Queen_.” Jon dropped the parchment atop the table in order to flex his scarred hand.  

The last time Sansa had seen her former husband, they’d been unwilling participants at Joffrey and Margery’s wedding feast. She remembered Tyrion’s hair had been matted and sticky from the wine Joffrey had dumped upon his head. Before they could sneak away as the dessert was served, the monstrous king decided to label his uncle cupbearer in order to continue his humiliation.

That sip of wine would be his last.

A small part of her, she knew, always wondered what became of Tyrion. She’d left the small lion to be devoured by his own.

Davos’ voice woke Sansa from her thoughts. “Mother, have mercy. How did Tyrion Lannister find the Targaryen girl?”

Jon shrugged. “Or how did the Targaryen girl find Tyrion Lannister?”

“I for one am glad to hear Cercei is gone,” Sansa admitted as she straightened her furs.

“But we know nothing of this new Queen.” Jon retorted, his dark eyes rigid. “Who is to say she will not be worse than all the Lannisters combined?”

Brienne interjected, “Or worse than her father?”

Sansa thought a moment. “Tyrion was always kind to me. He tried to shield me from Joffrey and Cersei’s cruelty.”

Jon nodded in agreement. “He accompanied me to the Wall. I liked him well enough. I do not, however, know if he _chose_ to advise this Targaryen.”

“The fact that he invited us to treat is promising, no?” Sansa glanced about the table and continued, “I assume it proves that whatever wrath Daenerys Targaryen may possess, it quells with his counsel.”

“But we have the North. Treat they must, my lady,” Ser Davos stated.

The group paused before Brienne spoke again. “Lord Tyrion did not go into detail regarding Ser Jaime,” she noted, her bright gaze focused on the unrolled parchment before Jon.

Podrick scratched his chin as he stuttered. “Well, my lady, he did not sign the message as ‘Lord of Caterly Rock.’ I would assume Ser Jaime has yet to stand trial.”  

Sansa’s sworn sword allowed herself to feel some respite, relaxing her shoulders. Only she and Tormund noticed. “Lady Sansa,” Brienne began. “I request that I be able to take leave and ride south to King’s Landing. I would like to attend Ser Jaime’s trial.”

Brienne’s request did not surprise Sansa. She was glad they shared the same impulse. “A grand idea, Lady Brienne. I will travel with you.” Before her brother could object, Sansa stood. “I will accept this invitation and present the North’s initial proposal. Jon, you and Ser Davos are both needed here.” When Jon uttered her name in aggravation, she interrupted, “Do not attempt to change my mind. I know the capital, and I know the Lannisters very well.”

“I can’t allow you to travel so far from home again.”

“Brienne will escort me. I am safest with her at my side. All I ask is that you send a raven to announce our arrival.”

Jon sighed silently and nodded. “Fine. As Lady of the North, you will be my voice as well as my eyes and ears.” He then turned his head, to look at Brienne. “The Riverlands are still in chaos, but a great deal safer without Walder Frey. Keep off the King’s Road until you reach the Crownlands. All of you should get some sleep. I hear the journey is long.”

++


	2. Chapter 2

**Jaime**

Jaime stared out over the capital – the orange rooftops virtually blood red in the night, and the city noiseless despite the latest overthrow. It was cold, colder than he thought King’s Landing could ever be. He could see his breath with each exhale.

The hole where the Sept once stood was still empty, and he imagined the building as it burned green with wildfire. _Smoldering green, like Cersei’s eyes._

Only once before had Jaime seen eyes as crazed.

_Burn them all…_

“Wine?” Tyrion stood in the doorway waving a carafe and wearing a gold vest he must have gotten in the East. His hair looked a mess, and his stature proved he needed rest. But his little brother was a magnificent sight wearing that broach upon his chest. It filled Jaime with great pride.

He motioned to his sibling, and they sat. When both cups were full, he lifted it to his lips with his left hand. “Hand of the Queen. How did that come about?”

Tyrion laughed. “A long, droll story. I’m afraid it begins with a dwarf in a box.”

“And ends with the Mother of Dragons.” Jaime chugged half the goblet and placed it back onto the table. “Now here we are, both kin slayers.”

“What happened, Jaime?”

What was there to tell? As far as Westeros was concerned, he had killed his sister. _His lover._

“It was as if I was seventeen again. This time, the ravings belonged to our sister, and the enemy at the gate was a Targaryen. It’s quite poetic, really.” Jaime huffed and ran his hand through his short hair. “She would destroy the city before anyone could take it, and it was no bluff. As you well know, she eliminated the High Sparrow and the whole of the Tyrell family in one fell swoop.”

“Shame our father did not live to see it. Seems Cersei was the treacherous son he always wanted.” Tyrion drained his cup.

“Shame indeed. I had been angry with you, since you made me an accomplice in my own father’s murder.”

“And you have my apologizes, as that was not my intention. I had hoped to take sole responsibility.” Tyrion scratched his beard before pouring more wine. “The man wanted me dead and had no respect for any one of us. Not you. Not Cersei. Not me. Imagine if I had let him live?” Tyrion lowered his gaze, frowning and focusing on his full cup. “But, I am truly sorry for both Tommen and Myrcella. They were the best of us.”

Jaime closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself. He could still remember the smell of Myrcella’s summer hair, the warmth of her final embrace, and her sincere acceptance of their guarded family secret. She had been his daughter for a moment. With one gulp, Jaime finished his chalice.

Tyrion moved to refill it. “Daenerys is good, Jaime. She knows you had no choice but to kill Aerys. And she knows Cersei wasn’t worth her salt.”

“But does she believe I’m worth mine?” Jaime searched for the answer on Tyrion’s face but only saw tired eyes.

“I’ll tell her that I know you are. She sometimes listens to my thoughts.” Tyrion clucked his tongue, a question obviously sitting upon its edge.

“What is it, little brother?”

“You slew that disgraced maester, Qyburn?”

Jaime snorted. “I’m sure in his final moments, he wished he’d never burned the rot from my stump.”

“And Ser Gregor Cleglane? You managed to kill him as well?”

Jaime hadn’t even thought of Cercei’s monster, assuming he’d died in the conflict. “My younger self may have stood a chance… Was he not slain by one of yours? A dragon, perhaps?”

Tyrion shook his head. “We found him with both of his heel cords sliced. A thin blade had pierced his head, straight through his eye socket. Rather impressive considering his size.”

“And lack of humanity,” he added. There was no doubt that someone had been on a warpath to Cercei. Who could have taken the wretch, he did not know and wasn’t sure if the man deserved his thanks or his fury.

++

**Brienne**

Brienne ripped another bite of her salted beef, concentrating on the dry texture and the effort it took to chew. She needed to occupy her mind and her hands.

She knew she should walk the small camp they’d made to confirm they were undetectable by any who took the King’s Road. Brienne should find space to work with Oathkeeper to keep her muscles loose, and she should stay hydrated and well rested for tomorrow’s travels. They were only a day’s ride from King’s Landing, yet her stomach was in knots.

All she could think of was Jaime.

Had he been thrown into a cell? Starving? Brienne remembered how he looked when they first met, a weak and filthy captive of the Starks. Cruel. Vicious. An animal. If he somehow still lived, would that be the Jaime she found? Or perhaps his sentence had already been carried out, and all that awaited her was a mound of ash, his golden head and golden hand gone.

Brienne bit her beef again.

Sansa Stark joined her on the log she’d claimed near the small fire Podrick had built. The lovely lady took a swig from a skin and handed the drink to Brienne, who wordlessly accepted. The cool water was a welcome relief on her dry tongue. After wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve, she returned the flagon.

“Lady Sansa,” she started, searching for the words she needed. By right, the lady deserved to know what Brienne was willing to do to help Jaime. “Honor compels me to be honest with you.”

“You care about him,” the young woman established. “He saved you from death and torture, and I understand your sentiment.” She looked to the fire. “But the Kingslayer pushed my brother out a window, taking Bran’s legs though he meant to take his life.”

Brienne felt her heart pound. “But there is honor in him,” she assured.

“Yes. Maimed and weaponless, he jumped between you and a bear. And he charged you with finding both Arya and me in order to keep a vow to my mother.” Her pink lips pursed into a thin line as her forehead wrinkled. “I consider Lannisters my enemies.” She paused. “But I suppose one must occasionally make peace with enemies.”

A weight lifted off Brienne’s chest, and she felt as if she could finally breathe.

“With the Long Night imminent, this game doesn’t matter.” Sansa smiled sadly. “We need all the allies we can get. Do, as you must, Lady Brienne. I trust your judgment, just as I believe you trust mine.”

“Of course, I do.” 

Taking Brienne’s hand into her own and squeezing it in quiet desperation, Sansa’s voice lowered. “I am going to make an offer Jon will not approve of, and I don’t plan on telling him until the deed is done.” The fire reflected in tears she would not shed. “We are women who forge our own destinies, not pawns for others to position.” She looked like her mother in this light, the flames’ glow dancing over her red hair and brave face. “Our obligations are those of our choosing.”

++


	3. Chapter 3

**Jaime**

He’d had too much wine with his brother, Jaime surmised. But perhaps that was the Queen’s plan all along. If she knew Tyrion at all, she was well aware of his thirst for drink and his talent for getting others to indulge in the same. Now a fairly drunk Jaime stood before the daughter of the king he’d slain nearly twenty years ago.

Daenerys Stormborn looked relaxed in lavender silks and with white hair braided like a Dothraki. Her skin was pink and fresh from a bath. Jaime also noted she sat on a gold satin couch that he’d once fucked Cersei upon. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Though she’d summoned Jaime to her chambers to speak privately, they were not alone. A thin, Unsullied soldier stood watch at the door, his eyes focused on Jaime waiting for a flicker of malice. Jaime wondered if a spear through the belly would be a less painful than dragon fire.

“I know much about you, Kingslayer. Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jorah Mormont both served as members of my Queensguard. Neither held much love for you.”

Jaime grinned. “Ser Barristan was an honorable knight, too honorable perhaps. Ser Jorah, on the other hand, lacked that particular trait. He’d sold men into slavery, if I recall correctly.” He shrugged. “The things we do for love.”

Daenerys did not move, but he spotted a glint of confirmation in her stare. “Tyrion loves you and speaks highly of your bond. Seems you had close relations with both your siblings…” She allowed her damning words to trail off as she lifted a goblet to swirl the wine within. “Tell me why you murdered my father and betrayed my family, Kingslayer.”

“I’m sure Ser Barristan and my brother both divulged the tale. I needn’t bore you.”

“I want _you_ to tell me.” The Queen motioned Jaime to sit in the empty chair before her, her chin raised with pride. She resembled Rhaegar most.

“You will hear no lies from me, Your Grace.”

“Good. You may speak freely.”

Jaime sat. “Even before his descent into madness, your father was never a just man. And once he acquired a taste for torture...”

A swallow of wine, and she nodded. “Tyrion told me of the wildfire.”

“Cooking men in their suits of armor set your father’s loins ablaze, you know, and I was charged with standing watch outside their bedroom. I can still hear Queen Rhaella’s cries, some nights. I know I failed her, but I had been told my duty was to protect the King, not the weak and surely not the innocent.”

Daenerys took in the words, her eyes dropping to the liquid in her cup. It was then that Jaime recognized the pearl ring on her index finger and wondered how much agony her mother’s heirloom could have witnessed.

“ _Burn them all_ , he had commanded, but I couldn’t allow that.” He twisted his mouth, pondering what he could say next. “I failed your brother too. I didn’t know Rhaegar’s children had been slain until I saw their bodies wrapped in Lannister cloaks.”

“And you did nothing to object these atrocities?” she snapped, her voice shaking with quiet anger. The rage was all too familiar. “Aegon. Rhaenys. Elia Martell. They were yours to protect as well.”

Jaime scoffed. “I had objected to an atrocity, Your Grace, and was labeled Kingslayer for it.”

++

**Sansa**

Sansa’s heart raced as they entered the Great Hall. She could practically hear Joffrey’s brutalities echo within the enormous throne room and feel every one of Ser Meryn Trant’s blows.

Every bruise. Every tear.

She wondered if castles remembered moments, if they absorbed the pain of those who had been harmed within its walls. Maybe fragments of her grandfather and uncle still resided in the drafty place alongside pieces of herself.

As the three strode across the tile, a foreign girl, not much older than Sansa, began to rattle off the Queen’s many titles. Brienne and Podrick walked to either side of her, allowing Sansa to lead but remaining close. This time, she was grateful she was not alone approaching the throne.

Daenerys Targaryen sat stiffly upon the chair forged of the swords her ancestors’ enemies had carried. She was beautiful, light-eyed with near silver hair, and she wore navy silks that accentuated her collarbones and shoulders.

To the Queen’s left, Tyrion Lannister looked a bit older with a beard covering his face, hiding the scar he’d received at the battle of the Blackwater. In addition to Tyrion and the girl, an Unsullied officer and Lord Varys stood.

Sansa reached the base of the chair and curtsied as both the lady knight and squire bowed. She then removed her deep violet hood to reveal herself, the Lady of the North.

Not a prisoner. Not a wife.

“Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, accompanied by Lady Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne, Your Grace,” the woman introduced.

The Dragon Queen offered a polite smile. “I’m very glad you accepted my invitation to treat, Lady Stark. I hope your journey was uneventful.” The woman kept her hands in her lap, her eyes scanning Sansa and her companions. “However, I admit I am a little disappointed your brother is not in attendance. I would have liked to meet this _King in the North_.”

With a slight bow of her head, Sansa responded, “I beg your forgiveness for my brother’s discourtesy, Your Grace. He currently prepares for war, one I’d like to ultimately convince you to join. In the meantime, I hope my substitution does not dissatisfy you. I guarantee that I speak with his authority, and you may address me as you would him.”

A spark of surprise materialized in the Queen’s eyes before it disappeared. Sansa thought she saw the same response on the faces of Varys and Tyrion. Though she wanted to grin, she fought the urge.

“And I shall, but on the morrow. It is quite late,” the Queen said as she stood. “You and your escort must be exhausted and deserve a good night’s rest before we discuss the run of my kingdom. Lord Tyrion, please see that our distinguished guests are given suitable accommodations and nourishment. Sleep well, Sansa Stark. I look forward to our conversation when we break our fast.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sansa curtsied once more as the Queen left the Keep. The warrior and the orator both followed, leaving Tyrion and the Spider behind.

“Lady Sansa,” Tyrion greeted officially and stepped toward her. “It pleases me that you are well. I believe the last time we saw one another, my wicked nephew lay dying and you had been my lady wife.”

“I am glad that you are thriving, Lord Tyrion. Littlefinger’s scheme ensnared you unfairly. The same was done to me.” She moved her gaze to the Master of Whispers. “And Lord Varys, it’s a lovely surprise to see you at the Queen’s side.”

“Ah, sweet Sansa. You look marvelous. It is quite a relief to know you’ve been reunited with your family.” The heavyset man beamed at her, his hands tucked into his oversized gold and yellow sleeves. She knew there was more to Varys than he let on. After all, how did one manage to survive as the throne incessantly changed hands?  

Tyrion turned his attention to Brienne’s squire. “Podrick,” he clapped his friend on the shoulder, “truly good to see your face. I must thank you, Lady Brienne, for allowing the lad to squire for you. I hope he’s served you as well as he served me.”

“I need no thanks, my lord. Podrick is a fine young man.”

The dark-haired boy blushed a hue Sansa had never seen. “Lady Brienne is the finest knight, Lord Tyrion. I am grateful to serve.”

He nodded. “Come now. I’ll take you to your rooms. I made sure you had both food and wine.” After each offered wishes of peaceful evenings when parting ways with Varys, Tyrion guided them to the Tower of the Hand.

Sansa pressed, “I had hoped you and I could speak, Lord Tyrion. Alone, if it pleases you.”

“Had you?” He paused to look at her, his stare attempting to ascertain her motive.

“There is so much to catch up on. I’d like to hear of your trek in the East and inform you of the happenings in the North.”

He thought for a moment, his lips pursing slightly. “Of course, my lady. We’ll speak in my chambers.” 

++


	4. Chapter 4

**Tyrion**

“What exactly are you proposing?” Tyrion poured more red wine into Sansa Stark’s half-empty chalice, studying her posture. Her blue eyes did not waver, her face stern as ice. If he had been drunk, he could have sworn he spoke to Lady Catelyn’s ghost.

“I suppose I _am_ proposing.” She raised the cup to her lips, sipping. “It would not be the first time we married.”

He narrowed his eyes and filled his goblet to the brim.

They sat at a small table in his chambers – _the Hand’s chambers_ – and Tyrion was no longer sure if Sansa reminded him of her mother. There was hardness to her now, something he had first noticed when she entered the Red Keep. 

“I don’t quite believe you have thought this match through.”

She shook her head. “I know what I ask. You will be the Lord of Casterly Rock, if your Queen hasn’t named you Warden of the West already. My brother is the King in the North, and I am his advisor and heir. Our marriage would solidify some sort of truce until the Great War is won.”

“Sound reasoning,” he assured before popping a grape into his mouth. “However, why would _Queen_ Daenerys recognize a false king? The North is one of the Seven Kingdoms, is it not?” 

“Perhaps it was, once. Before Ned Stark lost his head, before weddings were awash with blood, and before Winterfell was sold to mummers and murderers.” Tyrion thought he saw her jaw clench, but she then placed a soft hand atop his. Any hint of rage evaporated. “I am not saying Jon will never bend the knee. I am simply stating it has to wait until after we’ve destroyed the Night King and his horde of undead.”

“You speak impossibility.” He examined her blue eyes. If Sansa were lying, he could not tell.

“I speak the truth, and the truth cuts. It is Valyrian steel and fire and dragonglass.” She pulled away to pick at the lemon tart on her plate. “You know my brother. You know his words are genuine. He’s been north of the Wall, and he’s seen them.” She lifted her gaze again, tearing through him. “I may not be the woman of your dreams, but I like to think my first marriage more successful than my last.”

His stomach churned. Theon Greyjoy had enlightened Tyrion with the details of Ramsey Bolton and his taste for sadism. He and Joffrey would have made great friends. “I am sorry for your sufferings, my lady.”

She considered his words for a moment. “Your pity is not necessary, my lord. You can bury it with the bones of the Boltons if you’d like.” 

Tyrion almost smiled. He decided he liked Sansa Stark in her newfound armor. “Why not my Queen wed your King? An accord that large would truly unite Westeros, no?”

“The North remembers. It remembers Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister very well, and your Dragon Queen will have to prove her merit. Though fire and blood may win wars and conquer cities, it does not inspire hearts and loyalty. Winter has come, and the only barrier standing between it and you is the North.” She stood suddenly, peering down at him in a manner befitting a sovereign. “Please consider my proposition, Tyrion. I look forward to treating with you and your Queen.” She bowed her head and started for the door.

An Unsullied opened it, revealing the broad and uncomely heir to Tarth standing watch. The woman’s eyes were breathtaking, the blue of her armor only making them more so. Tyrion’s gaze moved to the red leather at her hip where her hand grasped the gold and ruby hilt of her sword. The lady knight plainly wore the favor of House Lannister.

“My lord,” Lady Sansa began, spinning in place to look at him. “As an act of good faith, I ask that you permit Lady Brienne to visit your brother.”

The towering woman attempted to hide her desperation behind an unyielding expression, but her brilliant eyes revealed all Tyrion had already suspected. He grinned at her. “It would be my pleasure to escort you to his room, my lady. I’m sure Jaime would welcome the visit.” 

++

**Brienne**

A guard opened the chamber door, and Brienne forced her feet to cross the threshold.

Jaime sat at his open window, his boots kicked up onto the sill so he could stare into the night. But for a fire blazing in the hearth, there were no candles aflame. The waxing moon struck his features, highlighting the portions Brienne remembered so well: his strong jaw, the gray at his temples, and his creased brow. He turned his head slightly to look at his impromptu guest with little interest.

Upon realization, Jaime stood with haste. “Brienne?”

She planted her feet and swallowed the lump in her throat.

He appeared weary, but Jaime Lannister carried himself better than anyone she’d ever seen. His hand moved to touch her arm, stopping before he did. Instead he peered up at her, craning his neck only slightly to meet her stare. She recognized this look of his and liked to believe it was one of respect. After all, it felt like sunshine on her skin.

“Why are you here?” he asked with more sadness than anger in his voice.

“I accompanied Lady Sansa. The new Queen had asked that they meet.” She paused before adding, “I also came to see you. I would have come with or without the invitation.”

Fervor lit in his eyes. “A reckless gesture. I’d heard rumors of the woman crucifying hundreds. Why endanger yourself?”

Brienne did not know how to answer, so she didn’t. The question hung in the air between them, and to dispel the discomfort, she instead asked, “How are you?”

A smile wrinkled upon his lips as Jaime admitted, “I am better now.” He cocked his head toward the wine sitting atop the small table and turned, grasping the chair and dragging it from the position at the window. “Please sit with me?”

Brienne did as requested and watched as he poured two glasses, less awkwardly than she had expected. It seemed Tyrion had made sure they all were well stocked with drink.

Jaime took his seat. “It seems you may have only come to say goodbye, Brienne. I doubt _this_ Queen will pardon me for her father’s death.” He lifted the chalice, as if to toast.

Before he could take a sip, she blurted, “Demand trial by combat.”

“And there it is,” he grunted, lowering his wine. “You had to ruin our drink.”

“There is no need for farewells if you have me fight in your stead.”

“You want to be my champion? Fight an Unsullied?” Jaime sneered, his speech filled with ferocity.

“I will not lose.”

He dropped his golden hand atop the table, spilling wine from both cups. “You can’t help yourself, can you? Your resolve is to stupidly risk your life for those who don’t deserve you.”

“Ser –“ 

“I murdered the mother of my dead children, Brienne.” He knocked the wine aside, the goblets and decanter crashing to the stone floor, before looking to the hearth. “I am a sister fucker, Kingslayer…” His words trailed off and a silence overtook them.

The maid dared not speak. She did not know how it felt like to lose a lover, but Brienne knew how it felt like to lose a loved one. If Jaime’s pain resembled the defeat she experienced when Renly perished in her arms, she could empathize, even if he had murdered his sister.

“Cercei wanted to burn the city,” Jaime murmured.

“And you stopped her.” Brienne’s heart ached for this man, a true knight no one cared for. “You did what you believed was necessary.”

“Brienne, I didn’t…” His jaw clenched, and she could see the muscles in his neck strain, every syllable a bit of agony. “I had always believed we’d leave this world together. I think we both did, but that was no longer my path. I wanted her dead. I wanted to wrap my hand around her skinny throat before she could hurt anyone else.”

“Wanted to?” she repeated, unsure of what Jaime was trying to say.

He released a heavy sigh. “I didn’t kill Cercei. Someone had poisoned her wine before I..” His eyes looked to the spilled carafe. “She’d died in the same manner as Joff, face purpled and eyes bulging.”

She remembered the anguish of King Joffrey’s assassination very well. The strangler, a toxin used to asphyxiate its victim, could be mistaken for the physical act. Victims had been known to bruise and even tear out their own throats as they struggled for air.

“Then we must clear your name.”

His stare returned to her then, with gratitude. “It matters not,” he said, his words barely a whisper.

Determined, she retorted, “It matters to me.” It was the truth.

A hint of a smirk brightened Jaime’s handsome face as he shook his head. “Do not march about King’s Landing acting as my savior, Brienne. You could get yourself killed. This terrible world needs your goodness, and Lady Sansa needs her sword.”

Brienne lowered her gaze, blushing like a green child. She could feel the heat of Jaime’s stare as he inspected the armor he’d gifted her. The crevices where the plates met felt hottest, as if he could slip past the blue metal and scratch at the doublet below.

“My apologies for the wine.”

She shrugged, realizing her breastplate suddenly felt heavy. “I wasn’t thirsty.”

“Perhaps not. But you look as if you could use a bath, my lady.” Jaime smirked widely now, arrogance gleaming in his eyes. “Perhaps I should call for one? It would be like old times.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at him, finally managing to smile for the first time since hearing of his arrest. “No, thank you. I am capable of requesting my own tub.”

“Then tell me, how do you fare in the North? Are the Stark children every bit of virtue you had hoped for?” His expression softened, and she could tell he regretted the mockery in his tone.

Brienne raised her chin and rolled her shoulders back to sit tall. “Yes, actually. I feel I serve a significant purpose at Lady Sansa’s side.”

“I’m glad. It’s good you believe in those you fight for.”

She wanted to tell Jaime that she believed in him as well, but stopped herself. “It is ridiculous that you’ve been imprisoned.”

“I slew the girl’s father. It’s ridiculous that my head is still attached to my neck.” His wry grin returned. “Are you jealous of my new jailer? She is quite pretty, if you like that type.”

Disregarding his jest, she glanced about his chambers, which were garishly decorated in red and gold. “We’re wasting time. She’s wasting time. None of _this_ matters,” she told, gesturing to their surroundings. “The Iron Throne, this war for Westeros – it doesn’t matter. We’ll all be dead soon if we ignore what’s coming.”

He raised an intrigued eyebrow, awaiting an explanation.

“The Great War is upon us.”

“Great War? You sound like a Northman,” he chuckled. “Don’t tell me the cold made you susceptible to their absurd folklores.”

“Not folklores, Jaime. Realities. Jon Snow has seen it.”

“Seen what?”

“The dead rise.”

“Then why are you really here?” he asked again, the words coming from somewhere deep in his throat.

This time, his query froze her. Were they here to solidify a truce with the Targaryen Queen? To keep the North as its own kingdom? To ensure the southern territories knew of the danger clawing at the wall of ice?

No.

She fixated on his slightly parted lips, longing for what she knew nothing of. Only Jaime Lannister made her feel like a foolish girl, an ugly maiden pining for a beautiful knight.

Thunder startled them both, and a dragon flew past the open window, so close that Brienne could make out the scales of its green skin and feel the wind of its wings. “None of this matters,” she repeated. “Lady Sansa must convince your brother and his Queen to join us, or we will all perish one way or another.”

++


	5. Chapter 5

**Tyrion**

The small council room looked much like it had the last time Tyrion held a meeting, though it appeared brighter than he recalled. Now, Daenerys sat with a council of her own: Unsullied, Ironborn, Lannister, Lysenes and those of the Summer Sea. The Greyjoy siblings must have just docked in King’s Landing, and Dany had likely wanted to sup with her officers together. She smiled at him as he joined the table, his mouth watering at the site of soup and roasted pheasant.  

“Yara and Theon,” he greeted. “I trust you found the harbor without trouble.”

The sister nodded. “Drogon was easy to spot from Blackwater Bay. It was if he was welcoming us.”

The Queen laughed and turned to her Hand. “How was your reunion with Lady Sansa? I must admit I’m captivated with both the girl and her sworn sword.”

“I had the chance to witness Brienne of Tarth fight when… when she rescued Sansa from Bolton men. Your admiration is well-placed, Your Grace.” Theon, after swallowing a bite of meat, then asked Tyrion, “Is Sansa well?”

Tyrion began to pull apart his pheasant, nodding. “She is well – well enough to propose a marriage.”

The clinking of forks and cups ceased, leaving all eyes focused on him. Daenerys, Varys, Missandei, Grey Worm, Yara, and Theon awaited specifics.

But he decided not to divulge. Instead, he spoke of winter. “She and her brother are in need of an alliance. As we all know, the Stark words have an uncanny ability of ultimately coming true. Winter has come, but she insists it’s more than just the snow and the ice. The Long Night is upon us.”

“Jon Snow amassed thousands of wildings since his short tenure as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. My little birds say he granted them passage. It was no longer safe beyond the Wall,” Varys offered as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “There is talk of a Night King.”

“Myths,” Yara interjected.

“Yet Sansa Stark and Jon Snow have convinced all of the North of an army marching south.” Tyrion gulped his wine, enjoying the sting in his throat. “We have dragons, fire made flesh. How can we ignore their claims?”

“We can’t.” Daenerys replied and looked to Grey Worm. “We have never seen snow or ice. I don’t think we could even consider a war with the North.”

Grey Worm nodded. “Unsullied would fight, bravely, but temperature would slow us. Even King’s Landing is much colder than we know. Martell and Tyrell armies know nothing of cold and cannot help.”

“And the Ironborn are of little use to you on land, Your Grace,” Yara added. “Greyjoys belong near the sea.”

Tyrion nodded. “Southern armies have rarely voyaged north of The Neck. Even my father beat Robb Stark with treachery at a wedding, not on the battlefield.”

“You mean to tell me only deceit or dragons will persuade the North to bend the knee?” Daenerys was not pleased. Tyrion could see the fury billowing from her fair skin.

“And the North will not love you for either approach,” he confirmed, knowing she needed to hear it.

“Friends, I ask that you leave me to speak with my Hand. Please get some rest.”

As their allies slowly left the dwarf and the dragon Queen, Tyrion sipped more wine. “This generation of Starks has no hatred for you or your supporters. I may be the only liability, as it was my family that caused them the most damage.”

Daenerys interrupted, “Am I to marry this Jon Snow?” In that moment, she looked more like a child than he had ever seen her, worry etched on her porcelain face.

Tyrion couldn’t help smiling. “No, I’m afraid the North yearns for something a little more exotic than the blood of Old Valyria.” When she narrowed her eyes, he laughed. “Sansa suggested that she and I marry. Again.”

“What?” Her trepidation quickly dissolved into delight as the corners of her lips rose. “She proposed to you?”

“She did. She believes a Lannister and a Stark could subdue the distrust her bannermen have of my family while opening a door to your rule.”

The Queen tilted her head slightly, waiting for the catch. “But?”

“But,” he continued, “the North remains its own for a time, at least until this new war is won. Lord Snow has no interest in the Iron Throne, and they don’t care who sits upon it. Well, as long as she is not a Lannister.”

“And all this rests upon your marriage?”

“So it would seem. I had initially made a counter offer, Your Grace, recommending you marry the King in the North to join the realm before this war. Sansa refused.”

Daenerys shrugged. “You didn’t tell me your former wife was so interesting. What else could she want besides our support at the Wall and you for a husband?”

“We didn’t speak of anything else, but I suppose the most obvious would be the return of Riverrun to her uncle, Edmure Tully. Of course, that is assuming we gain control of the Riverlands.”

The Queen relaxed in her chair. “Do you believe your betrothed holds any other surprises?”

Daenerys’ blasé approval of the marriage stunned Tyrion momentarily. “I don’t know. I suppose the next surprise would be when she plans on wedding and bedding me.”

“One hopes as soon as possible,” she answered blankly.

++

**Sansa**

After wrapping her body in a large, crimson robe, Sansa rung her hair over the tub, a stream of droplets splashing the dirty water below. It felt good to clean the dirt of travel and the smell of King’s Landing from her skin. She was anew, refreshed.

She flipped her long, red hair and met the eyes of a girl she did not recognize. The stranger hadn’t made a sound, and Sansa did not know how long the girl had been standing in her bedchamber unannounced. “Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded. Though unsure if Brienne had returned from her visit with the Kingslayer, she knew Podrick was close enough to hear if she called.

The girl took a step closer. “No one,” she mumbled. “No one you know, not yet.” She had big eyes, light hair, and deep olive skin. She was a pretty thing, thin but not fragile.

“Then tell me.”

She brazenly strode to Sansa, quickly cutting their distance in half. The girl then raised her hand over her face, pulling at her skin. It stretched grotesquely, revealing fairer skin, thicker eyebrows, and stormy eyes beneath. Dark hair fell over the girl’s shoulders, and a familiar form stared back at Sansa.

Sobs she would not release quaked through her body as understanding poured over her. Her little sister, now nearly a woman, stood with a sword at her side and frost in her eyes. “Arya?”

“Are you real?” Arya asked, her glacial glare ripping through Sansa. “Or are you wearing a disguise too?”

This time, Sansa walked forward. “I’m real.” She lifted her hands to cup her sister’s face, but the girl flinched at the touch. Sansa froze but couldn’t allow Arya to slip through her fingers. Not now. So she grabbed Arya by the shoulders, pulling her into an embrace.

Though she stiffened, Sansa ignored the reaction and instead brought a hand to Arya’s dark hair and tightened her hold, trying to break through the barrier her sister had formed upon her skin. Before she thought to let go, Arya wrapped her arms about Sansa in return and tucked her head into the crook of her neck.

She smelled of dust and copper, and Sansa couldn’t think of anything that smelled sweeter.

“I can’t stay,” Arya whispered against her chest.

“Ride north with me. Jon is at Winterfell.”

“I can’t, Sansa.” She looked up at her, her large eyes melting as she spoke. “I have more names on my list.”

“Your list?”

Arya nodded. “Meryn Trant. Walder Frey. The Mountain. Queen Cersei. There were more. The Stranger took some from me, but I made sure to get my fill.”

“You killed them all? How? I thought the Kingslayer had killed his sister.”

“I believe he would have had Cersei not drunk her wine, but the Queen rarely was without her cup of red. I’m sure you remember.” Arya snickered, reveling at the thought. “I’m glad I didn’t skewer him when I had the chance.” Arya pulled away from Sansa, taking a hand into her own. “Don’t worry, sister. You can’t be rid of me. I’ll find you at Winterfell, I promise.”

Sansa kissed her sister’s forehead. “Stay alive.”

“You too.”

++


	6. Chapter 6

**Brienne**

“You’re sure it was her?”

“Unquestionably,” Sansa confirmed as she fastened her braid. Today, she wore the other simple dress she’d packed, gray with a rich blue design embroidered at the sleeves and hem. She had made it herself. 

Brienne wasn’t surprised Arya still lived. She’d recognized the girl’s ferocity and resolve upon their meeting years ago. One day, she hoped to train the girl, though if what she’d told Sansa were true, the young Stark did not need it.

Sansa took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, meeting Brienne’s eyes in the large mirror. “You look nice, Brienne.”

Per Lady Sansa’s request, she did not wear her armor despite feeling naked in just the sapphire, woolen tunic and britches. Brienne still had Oathkeeper at her side, and that allowed her a small amount of comfort. Grasping its pommel, she smiled at Sansa’s sweet lie. “Thank you, my lady.”

A knock sounded at the door. Once Sansa nodded her approval, Brienne opened it.

The young orator stood wearing a frock of navy linen, and today, she wore her curly hair with a braid on one side. She had lovely almond eyes. “My ladies, my name is Missandei. Queen Daenerys welcomes you to break your fast.” Missandei turned on her heel.

Sansa and Brienne followed the woman for a quite a while through ornate hallways to what Brienne thought were the Queen’s private apartments. The Targaryen and the Imp sat at a table already set with fluffy bread, bacon, boiled eggs, honey, fresh fruit, and butter. It wasn’t until she smelled the food that Brienne knew she was hungry. Her stomach grumbled. 

“Lady Sansa and Lady Brienne, good morning.” The silver-haired woman smiled and motioned them to sit. “I hope you are well-rested.”  

As they took their seats, Sansa responded, “King’s Landing isn’t a city I sleep particularly well in, Your Grace, but thank you.”

Tyrion coughed loudly to distract from Sansa’s bluntness. “Missandei, would you be so kind as to pour each of our guests a cup of mead?”

Brienne thanked the girl and grinned to herself. Those who underestimated Sansa Stark now amused her.

The smile plastered upon the Targaryen’s fair face did not falter. She lifted a piece of burnt bacon, ripping it in half. “Of course. Both our fathers were murdered unjustly here.” 

Sansa narrowed her Tully eyes. “No. I do not believe so. Two at this table have honorable men as fathers, and neither sit on your side.” This time, the impoliteness forced even Brienne to flinch. Sansa knew the stories of the Mad King, and she wasn’t afraid to throw them in the Queen’s face. Whether or not it was wise, Brienne wasn’t sure.

“Yes. Tyrion and I know our fathers were terrors. If you only traveled here to trade insults, I would be tremendously dismayed.” The Queen’s expression hardened to one of detachment, a look more terrifying than rage.

Brienne involuntarily clutched her knife.

“Apologizes, but I believed we were here to speak with the assurance of honesty. I will not sully my father’s memory with comparison to yours.” Sansa tapped the egg before her, cracking its shell with the first strike of the metal spoon. “You will not receive false pleasantries from me. I have no time for such things. The realm is my first priority.”

“My father would have burned you for your insolence.” Daenerys took a bite of the bacon and swallowed. “But I am not my father.”

“Nor am I mine. He would not have offended you.”

Tyrion finished his goblet with a loud slurp, and the Queen elevated a dark eyebrow. Brienne could not tell if she was annoyed or amused. The Imp then placed his cup back on the table and straightened in his chair. “Lady Sansa, let us update the Queen with what you and I discussed last evening.”

“Yes,” Daenerys agreed. “My Lord Hand says the North has no intention of bending the knee, though I seem to remember history teaching us Northmen are not so foolish as to challenge the power of dragons. Tell me why I shouldn’t send Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal to your brother at Winterfell?”

“Because we are not your enemy. I bid you do send your dragons, but farther north than most men dare go. A force has arisen there, an army of the dead, and they take even less interest in your seat than my brother and I do.” Sansa poured honey over a slice of warm bread.

“You ask for cooperation but not an alliance?” Queen Daenerys snapped. “I have the backing of the Reach, Dorne, the Westerlands, and the Iron Isles. With the North brought into the fold, we could retake the Riverlands together. A unified Seven Kingdoms could look toward the Wall.” 

“We want the same things, your Grace, but perhaps not in the same order. The Riverlands may be drowning in chaos, but my brother cannot turn his forces. His men are needed at the Wall. The Night King won’t wait. The dead don’t rest, and we are but meat for their army." 

The Queen scrutinized Sansa, purple-blue eyes scanning her icy tenacity. “State your terms, Lady Stark.”

“I ask that my uncle, Edmure Tully, be freed from Frey captivity and allowed to return with his wife and child to Riverrun, where he will be reinstated as Lord Paramount of the Trident.” When the Queen motioned for Sansa to continue, she did. “I also suggest a betrothal. Once the war against the dead is won, my brother, the King in the North, will bend the knee and serve as your husband.” Sansa smirked slightly as both Tyrion and Daenerys appeared to have been caught off guard. Tyrion’s mouth hung open, and his hand clenched his cup. “The daughter of Aerys Targaryen has much to prove to my bannermen. Bringing order to the Riverlands and aiding the North in their time of need is a good start.”

“Those are your requests?” Tyrion questioned, finally releasing his empty goblet. “You haven’t forgotten something? Something small?”

Daenerys threw a look at the Imp. “I had heard a rumor that your family prefers to marry for love, my lady,” the Queen reminded. “What would stop Jon Snow from breaking the same oath?”

Sansa gave a small nod. “Robb’s love cost him his life, as well as the lives of his wife and my mother. He was foolish to trust Walder Frey. Perhaps he was foolish for following his heart.”

Brienne shifted uncomfortably, waiting for her lady to continue, knowing what she was about to do.

“All Jon has done has been for the realm. And for me.” Sansa paused a moment before finally looking to Tyrion. “I am a Princess in the North, heir to Winterfell, and I offer a pact solidified with marriage.” She then smiled a faintly seductive smirk and added, “Unless, of course, you’ve gotten a better offer since we last spoke, Lord Tyrion.”

Pleased with the news, the Targaryen laughed quietly. “Wonderful. It is better not to spill more blood.” She then shook her head at Sansa and stated, “Regrettably, your marriage alone is not enough to verify our treaty.”

“What is it you want in return?” Sansa asked.

Daenerys’ lilac gaze then moved to Brienne. “My lady of Tarth, I am need of your service as well.”

Brienne stiffened, dropping her hands to her waist. Her left caught the hilt of her sword. “Your Grace?” she responded, without a stutter.

“Many families of the Stormlands have yet to declare for anyone since Stannis was defeated. I implore you to send a raven to your father and advise he declare for me.”

Tyrion added, “Lord Selwyn will have to decide quickly, my lady. The Greyjoys are on their way to treat with him. Yara and Theon left King’s Landing at daybreak, and the Ironborn are known to travel faster by sea than anyone.”

Until now, Tarth had been left unscathed by war, nearly forgotten by the self-proclaimed Kings of Westeros. To the best of her knowledge, she was the last of her father’s troops in the field; the rest had returned to Tarth after King Renly’s murder. “There is no guarantee my father will heed my words. The Evenstar does what is best for the people of Tarth.”

“I simply ask that you convince your father I am what’s best for Tarth. My hope is the remainder of the Stormlands follows his example. Besides, if what your king and princess say is true, the sooner we unite the safer we all will be.” The Queen then lifted her chalice to sip her mead. Her eyes glittered with victory, knowing she’d cornered Brienne.

Both Tyrion and Sansa’s stares fell upon her, as her eyes fell to the blackberry jam atop her baked bread. Before she could prevent herself, Brienne uttered the only other thought she had. “What of Ser Jaime Lannister, Your Grace?”

Surprise skipped across the silver woman’s brow before her eyes could narrow again. “What of the traitor? My father’s memory demands justice, and I would be well within my right to feed one of the Usurper’s dogs to my dragons.”

“And what of mercy? A boy of seventeen saved a city from wildfire…”

Daenerys shook her head. “The Lannisters have caused the family you serve just as much grief. How does your princess feel of your loyalty, Lady Brienne?”

Sansa quickly interjected, “I’ve offered my hand to a Lannister.” The young Stark then turned her head slightly to give Brienne a reassuring look. “And if my sworn sword believes Ser Jaime deserves a chance at redemption, then so do I.”

For the first time during their meal, the Queen looked uncomfortable. “Send the raven, Lady Brienne. I will think upon the matter. In the meantime, I believe we are in need of a septon. I would prefer the wedding take place this evening.”

“No septon is needed, Your Grace,” Sansa insisted. “Tyrion and I were last married in the Light of the Seven. Perhaps this time, we speak our vows before the heart tree.”

++

**Jaime**

It had been nearly a month now, Jaime believed. He’d been confined to his chambers since the siege of King’s Landing, and today was only the second time he’d been commanded to leave. His instructions were to dress in elegant attire, but the Unsullied guard hadn’t elaborated. A well-mannered ruler should know to inform her prisoner of a trial or execution, as it would aid a man with deciding which doublet to wear.

The sun had begun to set, giving an orange glow to his features when he looked at himself in the mirror. He barely recognized the one-handed man staring back at him, someone who seemed so much older than he remembered. As he inspected his unkempt bristle, Jaime wondered if this reflection was his truest.

Once he was clothed, two guards led Jaime to the Godswood, much to his surprise. If he remembered correctly, Targaryens did not honor the old gods. Beside the overgrown heart tree, Queen Daenerys stood with her orator, Hand, Master of Whispers, and Unsullied commander. The setting sun’s rays glided through the leaves, bathing the group in a reddish-yellow light and giving them the appearance of being aflame. When they noticed his arrival, Jaime offered a small bow to the Queen.

“So good of you to come,” Tyrion greeted as he walked over toward him.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. But I’m happy to stretch my legs.” He eyed their surroundings, noticing Podrick Payne for the first time, and a small panic clutched at his chest. Where was Brienne if her squire was not with her? “Strange place for a trial.”

Tyrion’s brow furrowed. “Oh. No. Not a trial, but something just as depressing. A wedding. My wedding.”

“And I didn’t bring a gift. Who are you to marry?”

“Sansa Stark, actually.”

“Because that worked so well the first time?” Jaime snuck a glance at the Queen before asking, “Did you request my presence?”

His little brother shrugged. “You are a wedding gift, I suppose. Daenerys granted you leave for the evening.” He gave a lopsided grin. “I’m glad to have you in attendance all the same.” Tyrion reached up and squeezed Jaime’s forearm, just above his golden hand, before walking back to stand beneath the dreadful oak tree. Jaime made sure to avoid the Targaryen and her advisors and moved to stand beside the young squire. 

Before he could utter a word to the boy, he noticed all had turned their attention. Sansa Stark had joined them wearing a dress of white Myrish lace. Her long hair hung in ringlets over her shoulders, and a blue flower had been pinned behind her ear.

Brienne flanked her, looking even more peculiar standing beside the slender girl. The auburn warmth that engulfed them all darkened her blue eyes, turning them the color of the sea at sunset. Jaime couldn’t help staring. She looked his way for a moment, and he smiled.

“Sansa of House Stark comes before the Old Gods to be wed,” the girl announced with a strength Jaime hadn’t anticipated. “Princess in the North, trueborn and noble. I come to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim me?”

His brother tensely stepped forward, replying, “Tyrion of House Lannister.”

With a nod to Brienne, Sansa finished her journey to the oak as Brienne moved to stand beside Jaime, brushing her elbow against his own. He didn’t adjust to give her space, content with being near her. He took in a deep breath, recognizing the scent of lavender and leather.

Sansa reached for Tyrion’s hands and delicately took them in her own. “I take this man,” she declared for the Godswood to hear.

A sigh escaped Brienne, and Jaime was unsure if it were one of joy or woe. The hand he still had itched to reassure the woman, to grip her calloused fingers in his own. She then turned her gaze to him, her eyes shimmering with the sun’s afterglow. Brienne radiated.

The Targaryen applauded, forcing Jaime from his thoughts. He and Brienne were the last to follow the bride and groom, though two guards were sure to shadow once they did.

++


	7. Chapter 7

**Sansa**

The last three wedding feasts Sansa had attended all had been much larger and more distressing than this. Brienne sat to her left and her husband to her right. Though the bride had barely touched her wine, Tyrion had moved onto his second cup of red. 

Sansa chuckled a little to herself. She felt a collector of sorts – a giantess as her sworn sword and a dwarf as her husband. A small glance past Tyrion allowed Sansa to see the Kingslayer struggle with his plate of food. She’d gained a one-handed man as a brother as well, solidifying that they were a table of broken things – Brienne, the plain lady knight; Tyrion, the dwarf who counseled a Queen; Jaime, the crippled Kingslayer; and Sansa, the princess who survived the torture of murderers. Of her new family, only she had the luxury of wearing her abnormality on the inside.

The Dragon Queen, surrounded by her team of advisors, had been staring at Sansa from her own table on the opposite end of the small room. She abruptly raised her cup, a glint in her gaze. “I wish to toast to the bride and groom. To their happiness and to their good fortune.”

Sansa’s jaw tightened as she bowed her head in thanks. Tyrion touched his goblet to hers, his eyes offering some reassurance. He was a decent man, despite it all. An agreeable match, to be sure. Intelligent. Kind. Good. Though she knew these traits were all she could truly want in a husband, a lump formed in her throat nonetheless.

Tyrion seemed to notice. “I said it the first time we married, and I’ll say it again,” he whispered so only she could hear. “I will never hurt you.”

Involuntarily, Sansa snapped, “I would never allow it.”

Before she could apologize for her candor, Tyrion grinned and placed his hand atop her own. “Good.”

Queen Daenerys stood from her seat. “As your host, it falls upon me to offer you each a gift. Lady Sansa, five hundred Unsullied will accompany you when you ride on the morrow. Once I visit your home and meet your brother, I may send more.” Her lavender eyes then moved to Tyrion, and her smile brightened. “Lord Tyrion of House Lannister, I give you Casterly Rock.”

Brienne froze beside Sansa, her knuckles white with the grip on her fork and knife. The woman’s dread was infectious, and Sansa realized her own heart raced. Would the Targaryen be so cruel as to sentence the Kingslayer at his brother’s wedding feast? She turned her head toward the Lannisters, and both eyed the Queen with worry etched upon their faces.

“My Queen,” Tyrion began. “I beg we speak in private before – ”

“Casterly Rock is yours by right.” The Queen then stepped from behind the table and to the Kingslayer, who stood to meet her. The Unsullied commander’s chair screeched when he moved to his feet, and Sansa noticed Brienne’s hand as it discreetly moved to the pommel of her sword. “Jaime Lannister is guilty of regicide.”

“So guilty, I did it twice,” he sneered. Sansa blinked, allowing the lie to go unchecked.

“Which implies you may have indeed rescued the innocents of this city. Twice.” Daenerys inched closer to Jaime, her face calm and sharp. “But you murdered my father, your King, breaking your vow as Kingsguard.” 

“To save half a million men, women, and children, I’d do it again, Your Grace. But you know that.” His head tilted, waiting for judgment, and it seemed to Sansa that he had no fear of her sentence. He’d expected to die for a long while.

The Queen nodded. “Then do so again. Protect the innocent – the women, the children. Ride north, Ser, and fight alongside your foes. Leave King’s Landing with nothing but your knighthood. If I see you in my city again, I will feed you to Drogon.”

Sansa’s husband cleared his throat, looking as if he might retch. “Thank you, Your Grace. Now, if I may have a few moments with you.”

Jaime interrupted, “I cannot travel without an army or a sword, Your Grace. My brother could surely spare a thousand men to ensure his wife safe passage to Winterfell.” When the silver Queen did not respond, he continued with his requests. “I also ask for that which belonged to my son, Tommen. It is forged of Valyrian steel, and I’ve been told that particular metal is needed at the Wall.” His green eyes quickly darted to Brienne. “Besides, the weapon should serve with its mate.”

“Tyrion? These belong to you now.”

The Lord of Casterly Rock nodded his approval, and with that, the Targaryen parted, and Tyrion followed close behind. The chamber emptied, leaving Sansa, Brienne, and Jaime. No one spoke, though Sansa felt she was intruding nevertheless. Brienne’s bright eyes sparkled with tears, and her chin quivered in a way Sansa had never seen. The Kingslayer hadn’t moved from his stance, but he met the lady knight’s stare with something fairly similar.

Before Sansa could excuse herself, Brienne was halfway across the room, and Jaime’s gaze with her. “I suppose I should find Podrick. We’ll need another horse,” she uttered and was gone.

The Kingslayer snorted a soft laugh, and his shoulders relaxed. His left hand gripped the carafe and poured more of the wine into both their chalices. He raised his to Sansa after he sat. 

“How many lives do you have, Ser Jaime?” she inquired and lifted her goblet.

Jaime Lannister’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I could ask you the same, my lady, but I suppose it would be wiser to drink to our many lives instead.”

“And to the woman who protects them,” she added, her eyes indicating the doorway Brienne had rushed through. With a small bow and a smirk, he drank.

++

**Tyrion**

Time had repeated itself.

Once again, it was his wedding night and once again, he shared his chamber with his much younger and more beautiful wife. Five years older than when they last were married, Sansa sat at the same small table she’d proposed at not two nights earlier. Her coiled, red hair draped over one shoulder, revealing her unblemished neck. The white dress Daenerys had contributed fit Sansa well. Too well.

Aware of the fire in the pit of his stomach, Tyrion balled his hands into anxious fists and forced a smile. 

Sansa poured a second chalice of wine when she noticed him. “I trust your words with the Queen were of thanks. It was kind to grant your brother clemency.” She handed the cup to Tyrion, her fingers grazing his. “Of course, she could have acted with a little courtesy. I’m not sure to whom the implicit threats were directed.” She sipped her wine, the liquid staining her already pink lips.

Tyrion gulped his own. “Daenerys can be harsh, even when well-meaning. But she knows me, and her _lesson_ would have meant nothing if Jaime knew her plan.” He watched as Sansa crossed her long legs and reached for a boot. She pulled a small blade and set it upon the table. “Well-placed, my lady,” he observed. When she pulled another from her bust, Tyrion felt himself harden more, as if it were possible.

“I learned those with swords won’t always be there when I need,” she scoffed. Her blue eyes found him again. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but I didn’t want you to think…” She didn’t need to finish her thought.

“Sansa, I know this marriage is of obligation.” He crossed the room and set his cup besides hers, stepping close. “Despite it all, I mean to be a suitable husband.“ Tyrion thought he saw a hint of a smile on her mouth, and, much to his surprise, she cupped his face before dipping her head to plant an easy kiss upon his lips.

The kiss tasted of wine and duty, though considerably sweeter than he’d expected.

“You deserve a life much better than you’ve been given, my lady,” he found himself saying. “And, I mean for this to be enjoyable for you.” He managed the courage to brush a strand of red from her milky brow, noticing the delicate flush of her cheeks and the candlelight in her eyes. Perhaps they hadn’t married for love, but there was no reason he could not please the lady in other ways. “I’d like to kiss you in return, if you’ll permit it.”

Sansa openly laughed, a foreign yet lovely sound. “Yes,” she murmured, “you may.”

He seized her mouth with his, and his hand moved to the nape of her neck as her fingers ran through his beard, nails softly raking his cheeks. Her lips willingly parted for his tongue, and he quickly learned he enjoyed kissing Sansa Stark. 

Tyrion paused to look at the wife he’d married twice, to be certain there was no regret in her choice. She met his eyes, her lips swollen and cheeks red, and nodded.

++ 


	8. Chapter 8

**Brienne**

She bent her knees and lunged, Oathkeeper a natural extension of her arm. With two steps, she turned and brought the sword across in a motion meant to behead a man in battle.

When she worked with Oathkeeper, Brienne felt whole. She hated the feasts and the wordplay. _Swordplay_ , however, was easy. Though now with Unsullied and Lannister men in tow, she was grateful that they had finally left King’s Landing. While the North wasn’t her home, it was Lady Sansa’s, and that was good enough.

Brienne lunged again.

“I told you once not to grimace before you strike. It gives the game away.”

Brienne paused, pulling Oathkeeper to her chest and closing her eyes for a moment. After slipping her sword into its sheath, she turned to look at Jaime. Even in near darkness, he was awe-inspiring. “Usually soldiers are too distracted by my gender to notice my grimace, Ser.” 

He chuckled. “An advantage.” Jaime pulled his own sword from its scabbard, the Valyrian steel almost iridescent in the moonlight. With only a bit of fumbling, he managed to offer Brienne the hilt.

She lifted the weapon, to admire it. “It’s lighter than Oathkeeper. Shorter.” Brienne rotated her wrist, swinging the sword and smiling at the whistle it made as it cut through the air.

“Yes. My father had this one forged for Joffrey. He had named it _Widow’s Wail_.” Jaime shrugged when Brienne threw him a look. “What the boy lacked in subtlety he made up with cruelty. He was very much like his mother.”

Brienne chose to ignore his comment. “The sword suits your needs well, Ser Jaime.”

“Does it?” he asked quickly and stared at her for a moment, waiting for a reply.

“It needs a new name.” 

“That, we agree upon.” He took the sword back with his left hand and held it up, as if to study the steel. “I’ve thought a bit about its title but cannot decide. Perhaps Maiden Fair?” His green eyes looked past the blade and to Brienne. “Lady Knight?”

Brienne felt a blush creep up her neck and to her face and prayed it wasn’t visible in the night.

Jaime slipped the blade back into its sheath. “I know what you did for me, Brienne. You had nothing to bargain with, and yet you bargained anyway.” He stepped toward her.

“You once did the same for me. Granted, Daenerys Targaryen is no bear, and you are not worth your weight in sapphires.” He laughed, and she found herself hypnotized by the smile lines around his mouth. “I had no choice, Jaime. I had to say something.” She shivered when she felt his breath upon her skin. 

“Bloody selfless wench,” he muttered. His hand moved to her face and brushed a strand of straw hair from her eye.

How many times had she imagined Jaime this close? How many of her dreams had brought her to this very instant? He smelled of leather and soap and sweat, and it took all her resolve not to melt into him. She knew Jaime respected her, but what right did a lumbering beast such as she have to steal moments like these? “I need to check on Lady Sansa,” Brienne uttered.

His hand recoiled from her short hair, and she thought she read disappointment in his expression. “Of course.”

She smiled for his benefit and left him in the small clearing to join Sansa in her tent where she slept upon her bedroll. Before Brienne could ready herself for sleep, she heard the girl shift. 

“Brienne?” Sansa sat up and rubbed her eyes as she yawned.

“Yes, my lady. Is there something you require?”

“No, not… yes. Someone to talk to?” the girl admitted. “We’ve had a few interesting days.” The young woman had a husband once again, an unfamiliar army at her back, and a treaty in her coat pocket. Much had certainly changed for her. “I know you don’t seek an explanation from me.”

Brienne sat upon her roll, across from the Stark girl. “Your movements have all been tactical and sound. Besides, I’m here to serve.” 

“I know, and I thank you for your honest council and loyalty. I suppose what I’m looking for is… I think Tyrion is a good match. He is clever and kind, and one cannot ask for more in a husband.”

A confidant. Sansa needed a confidant. “Of course, my lady.” This is what sociable women at court did, Brienne supposed. They’d giggle about knights and flowers and favors as young girls and would later whisper of rumors and muscles and stolen kisses in corridors. A small part of Brienne had always wished for those silly exchanges and those silly friendships.

Sansa brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms about them. “He isn’t Ramsay, and I had to remind myself of that.”

Brienne winced involuntarily, knowing enough of Sansa’s anguish at the hands of the Boltons. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

The girl shook her head. “Tyrion was gentle. He prefaced every movement with a request for permission.” 

As Sansa bit her bottom lip in thought, Brienne recalled the newlywed’s goodbye earlier that day. Beside her pale mare, the bride had stooped to match her husband’s height, and with knowing smiles upon both their faces, Tyrion had kissed Sansa’s knuckles. Perhaps the two had found some relief in their unlikely nuptial.

“It was like nothing I’d ever experienced,” Sansa whispered. Her long fingers moved to her hair, unbraiding and braiding the locks again. “He focused on me. I almost felt… It was powerful, whatever it was.”

Brienne grinned, not knowing what to contribute to the conversation.

“I wish my mother had prepared me. She only spoke of the result, of motherhood. Margaery was kind enough to elaborate, to hint that satisfaction could be found in the act.” Sansa’s bright eyes then found Brienne’s. “Did your mother speak to you of it? Of any of it?”

“No, my lady. My mother died when I was young. Instead, I had a septa – a terrible, pious woman who insisted no man would care enough to perform beyond his duty to Tarth.” She lowered her eyes a moment, almost feeling ashamed for admitting to her ugliness aloud. 

“You’re beautiful where it matters, Lady Brienne. I would take your skill with a sword and wits on the battlefield over beauty any day.” She sighed. “Septa Mordane was always kind to me, but she was wrong about a great many things, songs and gallantry being two.” Sansa wrapped herself in her furs and laid back down on her bedroll. “But it wasn’t all a lie, I suppose. I remember praying for a tall, brave knight long ago. The Gods sent me you.”

Brienne of Tarth reddened.

And Sansa beamed. “Ser Jaime is very handsome, isn’t he? I remember thinking as much when I first saw him remove his helm upon his arrival at Winterfell. He has a pleasant face, and his shortened hair accents it quite well. I believe I prefer it this way, don’t you?” The Stark closed her Tully eyes. 

++

**Jaime**

As expected, the farther from King’s Landing they were, the colder the temperature and the deeper the snow. Jaime knew his men’s pace would surely slow the more they marched and could only assume the Unsullied would do worse.

He looked ahead to the grey flag waving in the wind, each snap announcing they were Stark men, and wondered what Ned and Lady Catelyn would have thought of their daughter with a Lannister host at her back. Perhaps it was a pale sort of justice. 

Sansa Stark had refused a carriage, insistent on riding her palfrey. With her hair braided to one side and cheeks pink from the cold, the girl seemed fairly regal atop the white mare. Brienne, in her blue steel, only gave credence to Sansa’s nobility. The two made quite a pair.

When dusk settled upon the land, the men made camp quickly just west of the King’s Road. Jaime estimated they were parallel to the Whispering Wood, where the Young Wolf had captured him in what felt like a lifetime ago. The locals they’d met along their journey told of wolves hunting near riverbeds and streams. He had been sure to send several scouts ahead as a precaution.

Once they fed on dried meat and hard cheese, Jaime met with each of his officers, including the captain of the Unsullied. Contrary to his name, White Rat had deep chocolate skin, large brown eyes, and the presence of a seasoned warrior. He maintained his men were fine, despite the weather.

Jaime returned to the fire Podrick had built to see an unarmored Brienne sitting atop a log and polishing Oathkeeper. While the Valyrian blade sparkled with the yellow glow of the flames, her eyes glittered with the shine of the sword. Before he lost himself in the sight, Jaime moved to join her.

“I assume the men are well?” Absorbed in her work, she didn’t glance at him. “We’ll have more snow on the morrow.”

“They’ve made it this far without complaint. I worry more for the Neck.”

“As do I. I’ve never traveled this distance with so many.” The cloth moved from pommel to tip once more before she raised the blade for an inspection. 

“It is immaculate, Brienne. Newly forged to the untrained eye.”

She thanked him as she slipped the blade into its scabbard.

Jaime couldn’t help smirking in response. “Have you put any thought into the name for mine? I don’t think we’ve touched upon the matter since we left the capital. It’s shameful, really.”

“Shameful that we’ve barely spoken or that your sword has no name?” Brienne asked curtly. She finally fixed her eyes upon Jaime, her gaze swallowing him whole. He inhaled sharply, as if breathing for the first time that evening. In this light, her eyes possessed the shimmer of the Sunset Sea, of waves crashing against the beach below Casterly Rock.

“Both, in truth. Have you been avoiding me, Lady Brienne?” 

“Perhaps I have,” she admitted.

“Elusion doesn’t become you. Was it something I’ve done?” Jaime knew one day his teasing would grow tiresome, but he hadn’t expected it to come so soon. After all, they shared a bond, something fierce forged in the baths of Harrenhaul and tested within a bear pit.

“No.” Brienne exhaled. “I’m simply pleased you’re here, grateful we’re on the same side.” She grinned her horsey grin in an attempt to hide whatever she truly felt, but Brienne of Tarth lacked the talent for deceit. Instead, she carried honor and honesty as her shield and sword. She was the most virtuous person Jaime had ever met, someone who truly believed in the importance of chivalry and loyalty.

Brienne was the epitome of a true knight, and Jaime was a fool.

“Lady Knight. The name suits the blade, I think.” When he noticed the flush of her cheeks, Jaime asked, “Do you like it?” 

“I may have named Oathkeeper for you, Jaime, but there is no need to return the courtesy.”

“It’s not about you, Brienne,” he chuckled. “I named the sword strictly for selfish reasons. Some men need reminders to act with integrity, and if you and I are ever separated, I can look to the sword for that suggestion.” Jaime stood and tossed another log onto the fire. He had no need for sleep just yet. “I saw Tarth, you know. I had been aboard a ship bound for Dorne. The waters were as beautiful as they say.” When he returned to sit, he made sure to move closer to Brienne and to lower his voice. “Tell me of Tarth. Tell me of swimming and of scraping your knees as a child.”

Brienne laughed heartily and leaned into him. “Only if you speak of Ser Arthur Dayne. I’d like to know if the tales are true.” Even here, in the snow of the Riverlands and after all she’d seen, she wanted to hear of songs and legends.

Jaime kissed Brienne artlessly, a chaste kiss with lips timid against hers. He pulled away for an instant, afraid that he’d gone too far. He hadn’t thought of how she might react, and the idea of rejection suddenly paralyzed him. Mercifully, Brienne’s hand came to rest upon his unshaven jawline, and she lightly kissed him in return. Her lips moved with caution, as if exploring unknown terrain. This time, she broke away to stare at him. Her gaze held a thousand questions, but before Jaime could assure he had made no mistake, someone cleared her throat.

Brienne jumped to her feet. “Lady Sansa.”

“Good evening, Lady Brienne. Ser Jaime. I apologize if I startled you. I had wanted to get some air. The tents are quite stale.” She gave a knowing smirk. “It is late, and I believe the plan is to continue at daybreak. You had suggested as much, Ser Jaime, had you not?” The redheaded girl adjusted her fur cloak, still smiling. “I suppose I should see to getting some sleep.”

“I will accompany you,” Brienne declared.

“That isn’t necessary.”

“Time escaped me. It’s much later than I had expected, and we have a long day ahead of us.” The knight then turned to Jaime, who hadn’t moved from his seat on the log. “Goodnight, Ser Jaime.”

He nodded. “Yes. Sleep well, Lady Brienne.”

The two women stepped into their shared tent, leaving him with the fire.

++


	9. Chapter 9

**Sansa**

Jon met them in the Great Room, seated in what was once their father’s chair and with a blank expression upon his face. Ghost lay at his feet, and Ser Davos and Tormund sat at a table nearby. Unsure if he was cross with her, Sansa stepped around his table and took the chair beside him as Brienne and Podrick moved to join Jon’s counselors.

Without hesitation, Jon kissed her brow and whispered, “I’m glad you’re home.” He then turned his attention to the Kingslayer standing before them. “My _Stark_ sister left to make peace with a Targaryen and returned a _Lannister_ with a Lannister host. What part do you play in this, Ser Jaime? Are you here to report back to your brother and his Queen?”

Jaime seemed surprised to hear his correct title. “Nothing of the sort. I’ve been exiled and ordered to spend my days in the company of Northerners.” The Lannister glanced in Tormund’s direction briefly. “No labels of insult? I have not been kind to your family.”

“My family has not been kind to you.” Her brother contemplated a moment before adding, “I count three king slayers in this room and far fewer without sin. Nonetheless, it does not make me trust you.”

“I thought as much.” Ser Jaime then pulled his sword from his hip, driving both Jon and Ghost to their feet. The direwolf snarled silently as Tormund slowly stood with blade in hand. To the room’s surprise, Jaime took a knee and laid his blade before him. “Lady Sansa, I am yours. I will shield your back and keep your council. I will give my life for yours if necessary. I swear it by the Seven.”

Sansa stood, placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder, urging him to yield. “You are not well known for keeping your word.” She looked to Brienne who appeared just as astonished.

“Valid. Words are wind, my lady. Actions matter.”

“And what actions do you hope to accomplish?” she asked.

“I mean to protect the realm,” he replied with a grin. “If there truly are monsters seeking to destroy what is not theirs, I plan to stand in their path, just as I’ve done before.”

She nodded. “Good. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. Arise.” As he abided, Sansa retook her seat and touched Jon’s arm to insist he do the same. The direwolf relaxed when he did.

“Let us make sure Ser Jaime’s men have appropriate lodgings.”

“My thanks, King Snow, but you fail to see they are Lady Sansa’s men.”

Jon didn’t respond. Instead, he called to Ser Davos to make arrangements and asked that Sansa accompany him to his chambers. The rest were dismissed.

Sansa and Ghost followed Jon, and she sat before his desk once his door was shut.

“What the hell were you thinking?” her brother demanded and collapsed into his chair. “Haven’t you been married enough for one lifetime?”

Sansa scowled and slammed the treaty upon his desk. “I did what had to be done. I’ve solidified peace and gathered more men for our army. You know better than anyone that we must bring the kingdom together. Marriage happens to serve as the best conduit.” As she considered how to word her next sentence, Sansa chewed on her lower lip.

Jon noticed. “What other surprises have you in store for me, sister?” He seemed both anxious and exhausted. The grooves of his forehead ran deeper than usual, and his shoulders sagged. Though his smiles had always been few and far between, Sansa worried her words would impede them for months to come.

“A betrothal. Tyrion and I agreed you and the Targaryen should marry, though I stipulated it wait until after the war with the Others.”

He shrugged and unraveled the parchment. “Well, we may lose. I’ll worry of nuptials if the time comes, I suppose. She agreed to your uncle’s claim?”

“Yes, but it came at a price. Tarth was forced to support _her_ claim. The Queen had Brienne send a raven to her father, advising he not resist.” Sansa could see Jon did not take the news lightly, even though they both knew protection could not be guaranteed for an island in the Stormlands.

“I’ll speak with Brienne.”

“She’ll appreciate that.” Ghost placed his large head in her lap, and Sansa scratched him behind the ear. “I saw Arya.” When Jon’s dark eyes widened, she whispered, “She poisoned Cersei.”

“But Ser Jaime –”

“Is lying,” she interrupted. “I don’t know why he lies, but he does. Arya killed Cersei. She also killed the Mountain and Walder Frey.” Ghost licked her face, which made her laugh. “Seems the Stark children are each taking their revenge.”

“They certainly are.” Jon skimmed the treaty before probing. “How am I to address you now? Are you Lady Lannister of Winterfell?” The words pained him, the discomfort clear upon his face.

“Absolutely not,” Sansa insisted. “I am a Stark. I may be married to a Lannister, but I’ll always be a Stark.”  

++

**Jaime**

“Easy journey?” the large wilding asked Brienne. She’d been observing the northern children train in the yard, a melee of teenagers. To Jaime’s surprise, a few of the fighters were girls. He, however, had been fixated on Brienne, watching her from across the way.

Without a look in the brute’s direction, she answered, “Easy enough.” 

Jaime noted a tension and maybe a little of something else in the ginger’s strut as he bit into a green apple – a _hunger_. While still chewing, he enquired, “You going to practice with your sword today?”

“Yes, with my squire. You know very well we work every evening.”

“You’re very disciplined,” the wilding stated, obviously, and shifted closer to the Maid of Tarth.

And that was about enough for Jaime. “She is, isn’t she?” he agreed, loudly, and came to stand between them. “Lady Brienne is the most disciplined person I’ve met.” He smirked at her as she narrowed her blue eyes. “My name is Jaime Lannister. And you are?”

“Tormund Giantsbane,” the wilding stated before spitting an apple seed and tossing the core. The man was either unaware of Jaime’s surname or didn’t care. He picked his teeth. 

Before Jaime could conjure an excuse to bring Brienne aside, Jon Snow strode to join them, wearing his wolf pelt and heavy cloak. “Pardon, friends. Lady Brienne, if you would walk with me? I’d like to discuss your travels.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” As she and the King in the North began their stroll, Jaime realized both he and the wildling watched Brienne leave like green boys nursing broken hearts. 

“That is a fine, strong woman,” Tormund muttered, mostly to himself, as he continued to pick his teeth. “Tell me, Lannister. You know her well?”

“Better than I know myself.” Jaime may have startled them both with his candor. 

The wilding grunted, spitting another seed, and Jaime gauged the man – his thickness, shock of hair, and unkempt beard. He was no mystery at all, an open book, as Tyrion would say. Tormund may have recognized Brienne’s might but had overlooked her gentleness.

“I’m afraid you’re not her type. She likes her men pretty.”

Tormund chortled robustly. “Har! Perhaps she does, Lannister. Perhaps she’s only known _pretty_ men.” He took a long moment to stare at Jaime’s golden hand. “When the dead come, _pretty_ will do nothing to keep men or women safe.” The large wilding wandered away, without a goodbye, to chat with another.

Jaime decided it would be best to walk the grounds and familiarize himself with his new home. He could check on his horse and inspect the armory to start. As he neared the stables, he overheard young, hushed voices in conversation.  

“I hadn’t thought it possible ‘til now, ‘til I saw the Kingslayer with m’ own eyes.”

He moved to the wall by the stable entry, his back pressed to it and ear leaning to catch their words.

“I’d heard tales from men who had been at Riverrun an’ saw her cross the siege line. _Kingslayer’s whore_ , they call her. Now, I know it to be true. If that southerner hadn’t saved Lady Sansa, the King would have taken revenge for Robb Stark, believe you me.”

Anger surged through Jaime, his only hand now in a tight fist. _Kingslayer’s whore?_ How could anyone dare to question _her_ character? Before he could barrel inside to smack the ignorant beasts of their gossip, another’s grip rested upon his shoulder. Jon Snow stood in the doorway, keeping Jaime at bay and out of sight.

“Is that how you all speak of your brothers and sisters in arms?” the King in the North questioned and stepped inside. The boys must have hurried to their knees for it sounded as if buckets and rakes had crashed to the floor. “Lady Brienne is one of my officers. If you speak unfairly of her, you speak of me, and I will not have that. If you wish to air grievances, you can come to me just as any other man, but I will not tolerate whispers.” Jon then left the stable, nodding as he passed. 

Jaime moved from the wall so the three boys could see him. They looked shaken, as if they’d seen a ghost. “I wonder what was said to upset our liege lord in such a manner?” He grinned and coolly rested his left hand upon his sword belt before following the King.

++


	10. Chapter 10

**Tyrion**

“Visit your wife, Tyrion,” Daenerys had commanded over the candlelight of their private meal. The thought of traveling so far in the cold had sent shivers down his spine at the time, and he understood now that he’d underestimated the wind.

The Greyjoys had moved to retake Pyke from their uncle but had also miscalculated their initial strike. Currently, they sat isolated near the Stony Shore, nowhere near the supply route from the Westerlands. They required food, and the North would have to deliver.

So, here he rode, above Westeros and upon Viserion’s back, flying to Winterfell, knowing full-well the Starks would require verbal convincing. And by no means was Tyrion a master dragon rider, though Viserion didn’t seem to mind and quite possibly preferred it that way. The dragon had chosen Tyrion, after all, not the other way around. 

Despite the heat of Viserion’s scales and the layers upon layers he wore, Tyrion’s teeth chattered and his fingers felt as if they might drop off. He nestled his face against the dragon as one would a lover’s breast, as he had against Sansa just a month earlier. He imagined her icy warmth now, upon his lips and pressed against his skin. She was a honeyed distraction from his present situation. In his mind’s eye, Tyrion could clearly picture his wife’s red curls splayed over his pillows, and this time, he quivered for a far better reason. 

Though the dragon knew to fly as high as Tyrion could tolerate, the wind still found them. They would soar for what felt like days at a time before making camp in a snowy clearing. He’d initially estimated their journey at a week but now wasn’t so sure. Time escaped him, and Viserion’s aversion to the climate only slowed them down. At night, the golden dragon huddled in a way a child would in his mother’s arms, and Tyrion would sleep beside him for protection, heat, and comfort.

When they finally arrived at the Stark’s home, Tyrion thought he might succumb to exhaustion. “Down,” he instructed, and the dragon heeded his word. Viserion was drawn to the Godswood, to the heat of the springs and the coverage provided by the weirwood tree. As the dragon rested beside the pool, Tyrion slipped from his back and to the ground below. The snow reached his knees.

Jon Snow was quick to greet him, no longer the round-faced boy Tyrion recalled. He wore his hair as Ned once did, a scar sat upon his left eyebrow, and something like a grin touched his lips.

Tyrion smiled in return. “You’ve done well for yourself, bastard.”

He nodded. “As have you, dwarf.”    

Viserion roared as the white direwolf padded into the snow, nearly disappearing against the fresh powder. In an attempt to alleviate his uneasiness, Tyrion stroked his scales.

“As much as I want to speak, Lord Snow –”

“King,” Sansa corrected and joined her brother wearing a thin blue cape upon her shoulders. The cold had kissed her lips and cheeks, and she looked much more striking than he remembered. Maybe it was fatigue or maybe it was the temperature that clouded his thoughts. It was terribly cold.

“Of course, lady wife. _King_. I’m afraid I need thawing before my brain is of any use.” He trudged a few steps in their direction. “If you would be so kind as to provide my dragon with a cow or a sheep? I’m sure he’s as famished as I am.”  

Sansa came to him and took his hand in her own. She was so warm. “I’ll have a bath drawn for you. Come, husband.”

++

**Brienne**

From her window, she could see the yellowed dragon and the few frightened men as they tried to drag a mewling heifer, meaning to feed the creature. None expected the dragon to seize the cow and fly away, the poor animal screeching as it dashed past. Brienne cringed at the sound.

She turned from the spectacle to see Jaime at her bedroom door. He didn’t utter a syllable, so she confirmed the obvious. “Tyrion is here.”

“I heard the commotion. My little brother rode a dragon from King’s Landing and was rewarded with a chill for his accomplishment, no doubt.” Jaime carelessly traced the doorframe with his thumb, his eyes set firmly upon her. “May I come in?” 

All she could muster was a nod. Her stupid heart had begun to beat in her ears, and she supposed even he could hear it from where he stood. For the past week, since he had kissed her, it was all she could think about: his green eyes smoldering in the firelight, the taste and surprising softness of his lips, and the ease in which she kissed him in return. When Jaime asked if he could close the door, Brienne only nodded again.

“I thought you and I should talk.” Despite having bathed, Jaime hadn’t shaved. Gray peppered his stubble in places where it hadn’t before. 

“You swore a vow to Lady Sansa. Why?” Brienne knew Jaime hated the pageantry of oaths and the formalities they entailed.

_They make you swear and swear… No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other._

He started to pace, impassively examining her bedroom. “These Northerners need to trust me, and the girl is my sister now.” Comprehending what he had said, Jaime flinched. “What I mean to say is Sansa is family. I ought to protect her, as well as those who have vowed to do the same. I know all you’ve ever wanted was someone to die for. This is my attempt to postpone it for as long as possible.”

Brienne wanted to challenge his belittling notion, to tell him she didn’t need safeguarding, but he was quick to change the subject.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked as he leaned against her fireplace. 

“Tell you of what?”

“Of what men are calling you.”

Brienne forced a laugh. “Oh, men have been mocking me since before I can remember. To which title are you referring?” She knew but refused to act as if she paid any mind. “Is it Brienne the Beauty?”  

“Kingslayer’s whore,” he spat, and she forced herself to hear him, to listen despite the drumming in her head. “Evidently, it was coined at Riverrun.”

“Riverrun. Harrenhaul. Some even say King’s Landing.” She shook her head. “It matters not.”

“It matters to me,” he disclosed heatedly. “I did not wish for my reputation to besmirch yours.” His green eyes moved from her face and to Oathkeeper, which hung above the mantle. “I should have expected as much.”

She sighed. “Men gossip. Perhaps it is meant as a compliment. If the most handsome man in Westeros saw fit to seduce an appalling –”  

“Enough.” Jaime stomped to her, bringing his face near her own.

Her ears burned.

“Stubborn woman, how senseless can one be?” He took her chin, his thumb grazing her lower lip. “No man deserves you. Not Renly, not Tormund, and most definitely not me.” Jaime furrowed his brow. His fingers were hot on her skin. “You’re not a stupid girl, you must know this to be true.” She realized he panted, as if he couldn’t catch his breath. “I’m an unbearably greedy man, Brienne. I know you’re too decent for anyone, and yet I don’t _want_ to fucking care.”

From somewhere deep in her chest, she managed to speak. “Then why are you still talking?” His hand moved from her jaw and to her neck, his thumb now brushing against her earlobe. Her pulse quickened, and she desperately tried to focus on his mouth, his smile lines, and his straight teeth.        

“Because I’ve never done this, and I’m petrified you will come to your senses and run or worse, tell me to leave.” Jaime laid his forehead against her own. “I’m a cripple with no lands, no wealth. All I have is a soiled name and my unreliable word. You are so much better than that, so much better than my shortcomings.” His breathing vibrated through her. “The Seven couldn’t have made a more perfect woman, a more perfect person, if they tried.”

They stood in her room like that, their foreheads pressed together for what felt like an eternity.

“Gods, woman. Say something.” 

Brienne pushed herself to move, to ignore the size of her hands as she brought them to Jaime’s face. She tilted his head so she could look into his eyes. “Kiss me, then.”

And so he did.

And it was different. Deeper. _Fiercer_. His tongue begged her mouth to open, and she hungrily obliged. Jaime’s hand fisted in her hair and his arm snaked about her waist, his golden hand pressing into her back and drawing her closer. She gripped his strong shoulders, clinging to the taut muscles beneath her fingertips. The wall was suddenly against her rear, but Brienne didn’t remember stepping backward.

Jaime’s lips moved to her jawline and then to her throat, sucking on the flesh there, as his knee nudged itself between her legs. Brienne thought she might die in this moment.

“If you allowed me,” he murmured into the crook of her neck, where the bear had dug its claw, “I would be indecent, Brienne.” His mouth found hers again, and his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. “I would love nothing more than have you earn that vulgar brand.”

If he asked anything of her now, she knew she could not say no. She would not say no.

He smoothed her hair and shook his head. “No. You’re ripe for ruin, but I will not.” Jaime pulled away from her, taking his heat with him, and Brienne suddenly felt very cold.

In an effort to steady herself, she focused on her breathing. “Then perhaps it’s best we dress for dinner.”

Jaime served his arrogant smile, and his eyes sparkled playfully. “Perhaps. But I’d like to continue this conversation at another time, if you are willing.”

The drumming in her head had finally stopped. “I look forward to it.”

++


	11. Chapter 11

**Sansa**

Holding a tray in her hands, Sansa kicked her bedroom door closed with the back of her foot and walked to the table to set the platter. Steam rose from the water Tyrion soaked in, the vapor so thick it was near tangible. She sat on the stool beside the iron tub and huffed.

“Something on your mind, my lady?”

“The more I know of your Queen, the crueler I find her.” Sansa lifted the bowl of soup and spooned some, bringing the helping to Tyrion’s mouth. He swallowed, gladly, and licked his lips.

“I’ll have you know, I am frozen to the bone, not an invalid.”

She rolled her eyes and fed him another spoonful. “I could just leave you to it, if you’d prefer.” Sansa set the bowl down and reached for a small pail. After filling it with a little of the water from the tub, she motioned for Tyrion to tilt his head back and poured it over his tangled hair. “Why not send a raven?”

“Because my appeal is for the Ironborn. They are stranded where I cannot send provisions.”

“And you did not believe I would have argued in your favor?” She had once considered Theon something of a brother, a very long while ago. Now, he was the only other living person who understood the terror that was Ramsey Bolton.

Tyrion frowned as he thought. “The whole of the North would have lobbied against you. They owe the Greyjoys nothing but hatred. That is why this must be a request straight from Daenerys.”

“And this justifies risking the life of her Hand?”

“Riding Viserion was the quickest route. It had to be me.” He cupped his hands, allowing bathwater to fill them, and splashed his face. “This trek also permitted a visit with my wife. So, there is that advantage.”

“You nearly froze to death.”

“Well-worth it, I’d say. I was recompensed with a bath and a stunning companion.” His hand covered her own, and it wasn’t until she felt his touch that she knew she’d rested hers upon the edge of the tub. “There are worse ways to perish. I happen to know from personal experience.”

She could sense his eyes as they trailed along her skin and was surprised to feel her cheeks tingle. “You should finish the soup while it’s hot. We’ll have dinner with Jon, but it would be wise to regain some of your strength.”

“Thank you for your concern.”

“My negotiations would have been in vain without you.” Even as she voiced the words, Sansa knew they were unkind. She kneeled on the stone floor to lean against the tub’s edge and interlaced her fingers with his. “Besides, I don’t think I’d like to be a widow again so soon.”

“A relief.” Tyrion gave her hand a small squeeze. “There is much I want to tell you,” he divulged as his gaze moved to focus someplace else. “I want you to know you can trust me.”

“So you’ve said, more than once.”

He rubbed his beard nervously, refusing to look at her. “I hadn’t been with a woman since before you and I were married, since we were married the first time.”

She was surprised and possibly – _slightly_ – flattered at his admission. The youngest Lannister had a reputation, after all. He had always enjoyed women and was known to pay handsomely for their company.

“There had been someone once.” His mouth twitched. “Your handmaiden, Shae.”

Of course Sansa remembered the exotic woman, her shoulder-length hair, and her large, daring eyes. Shae had always been protective of her, and suddenly, Sansa felt very much the fool.

“Shae betrayed me. Betrayed us, really. You see, I had sent her away for her safety, believing my father and sister meant her harm.” Tyrion pulled his hand from hers, allowing it to drop into his bath. “She repaid me with testimony at my trial, implicating us both for Joffrey’s murder.”

Sansa’s instinct was to dispute his account, to argue that Shae had cared for her, at the very least. But she did not, for she knew better than most that no one could be trusted.

His weary eyes ultimately met hers again. “I found her in my father’s bed, and before I could think… I’m afraid that I may be the monster you once thought I was.” Remorse wafted from his skin, as if it were entwining with the steam.

She thought of Ramsey and of the hounds that had torn at his flesh, confident she did not share that particular sentiment. “I suppose we’ve all become a bit monstrous when required.” Sansa stood and began to unfasten her dress, keenly aware of Tyrion’s stare. Cersei had been right about one thing: her body was a weapon, though she hadn’t fully grasped the notion until she’d dealt with Littlefinger’s deviousness. Many – _lions, roses, flayed men, and mocking birds_ – had tried to bend Sansa to fit their schemes.

But no longer.

Once in just her shift, Sansa draped her frock over a chair and twisted her hair into a knot atop her head, fastening it with a clip. “The disgraced daughter and the demon monkey,” she recounted from memory, from a warm walk they once shared. Tyrion laughed softly, and she climbed into the tub, still in her underdress and smirking. “Maybe we are indeed perfect for each other.”

Tyrion swallowed hard. “Lady Sansa – ”

“Just Sansa.” She splashed to him, resting her knees to either side of his thighs. “Wife,” she reminded and brushed his damp hair from his face, revealing the inch of injury his beard could not conceal. Sitting like this, Sansa thought her husband much taller.

“If I may,” Tyrion spoke with a tremble in his voice.

“It’d please me if you would.”

Her husband wrapped his arms about her, bringing Sansa to his chest, and his hands began working at the muscles of her back. “We may yet survive this, Lady Stark.”

She couldn’t help relaxing as he kneaded her shoulders. “I pray we do.” Sansa wavered a moment before mentioning, “I quite enjoyed that trick you did on our wedding night.”

Tyrion grasped her shoulders, adjusting to look at her. His eyes may have even twinkled. “Oh? Which trick do you mean, wife?” Before he pressured Sansa to speak crudely, he delicately kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m afraid I’d drown if I attempted it here, but I might have a few clever ideas.”

++

**Jaime**

The Great Room had been rearranged for their supper, Jaime noted as he strolled inside. Stannis’s Onion Knight had been the first to arrive. His back was to the dinner table, and he watched the flames of the fireplace.

“Pray tell, Ser Davos, are there images to be seen in the fire and its embers?” he asked, wondering if this man had been influenced by the same priestess who had damned his king.

“Not for me, but I think many see what they want, when they want.” The smuggler then clasped his gloved hands behind his back and turned slightly to acknowledge him. “I’ve witnessed too much to discredit what others believe to be true.”

Jaime moved to the knight’s side and noticed Jon Snow’s beast lying before the hearth for the first time. The direwolf’s red eyes followed him as he walked. It then noiselessly yawned, and Jaime didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended that the animal found him nonthreatening.

Davos glanced to the wolf and back at Jaime with a grin. “Strange times, no?”

He shrugged. “Just when I thought times couldn’t get stranger.”

“Bite your tongue, brother,” he heard Tyrion advise gravely. “We should know better than to challenge the Gods. Seems they only listen when we do.” He and Lady Sansa arrived with Brienne following close behind.

She looked to him sheepishly, a blush creeping upon her cheeks. He thought her lips still a bit swollen and licked his own instinctively, causing Brienne to redden more.

And Jaime smiled smugly. “You rode nearly the whole of Westeros on the back of a dragon, Tyrion. Quite an extraordinary feat.” A small piece of Jaime wondered if it was for the fire or the ice his sibling had voyaged. One did not have to be especially perceptive to see the energy between Sansa and her new husband.

Tyrion looked to the Onion Knight and extended his hand. “Ser Davos, I’ve never had the pleasure of exchanging words, but I believe we met on the Blackwater.”

With notable hesitation, Davos shook it. “We did. I lost a son that night.”

“You have my condolences, Ser.”

Before the two could continue their awkward introductions, King Jon and Tormund walked in. The direwolf stretched as he rose to greet his master before moving to lie beside Snow’s seat at the head of the table.

“Friends, please.” Jon sat and motioned at the seat to his right. “Lord Tyrion, if you will.”

Jaime’s little brother waited for Sansa to sit before doing the same, and Ser Davos took the chair beside Jon. Tormund rushed past, bumping him intentionally. Presuming she thwarted a scene, Brienne stepped confidently between he and the wildling to seize the seat closest to the fire.

With a grimace, Jaime strolled the end of the short table, discreetly grazing her arm before settling beside Sansa. From across the table, Tormund eyed him suspiciously, and he made sure to broaden his smile.

“You look a bit flushed, Lady Sansa,” Jaime thinly teased, and both Tyrion and Brienne sent irritated glares. With an eyebrow raised in Brienne’s direction, he added, “Seems it may be going around.”

The princess smirked as she placed a napkin upon her lap. “Nothing a bath couldn’t cure, Ser,” she quipped, splendidly. Perhaps he and his sister would indeed be fast friends.

Several cooks brought a roast, boiled potatoes and carrots, and black bread to the table as another woman began pouring ale. Jaime thanked the northerner and moved his mug to the left side of his table setting.

“My lord,” Jon began, “what urgency brought you to Winterfell? As you well know, my sister brokered a treaty with your queen. A request sent by raven would have yielded an answer.”

“Currently, Theon and Yara Greyjoy sit in ships along the Stony Shore. An attempt to retake their home from their uncle had been unsuccessful, and we have yet to build a supply route through the Riverlands.” Tyrion drank his ale and continued. “Queen Daenerys asks that you send them supplies.”

Jon thanked the cook with a nod and motioned her away. “I sympathize with their situation. However, the North is already stretched far too thin. We have recently grown in population, having gained new residents.”

“And have lost a few as well,” Sansa easily added, and Jaime thought the Stark might have a little Lannister in her after all.

With a small grin, Jon recognized his younger sister’s words. “Yes. Which is also why we must be careful. Northmen are not known for keeping opinions to themselves.”

“They seem to have accepted wildlings as their neighbors, despite the raids – no offence, my friend.” Tyrion tilted his head in Tormund’s direction before swallowing a bite of roast. “Besides, Theon Greyjoy saved my wife’s life. One would think that would be reason enough.” 

“And Theon Greyjoy murdered your wife’s younger brothers, as memory recalls.” Jaime could effortlessly slice the carrots with just a fork and brought a piece to his mouth. “Is that how we should measure our accords, brother? By the good and the foul deeds we’ve all committed?”

Tyrion looked to Jaime, an accusation clearly sitting upon the edge of his sharp tongue. He instead turned to the King. “I know the Ironborn are not your friends, _Lord_ Snow, but they are integrated in this treaty. They command the Queen’s royal fleet.”

Jon still hadn’t touched his food, and he narrowed his dark eyes. “Without a trade, we can not afford to send provisions. I require our new relationship to be one of give and take, and I believe your queen’s kingdom is quite fertile. She is more than able to transport dried fruit, wine, and olive oil to the Neck. In exchange, you will receive half its worth in wool, grains, and flour. The remaining payment will be sent to the Greyjoys, in advance.” He then started cutting into his meat. “I want this alliance to be one of transparency, my lords, and I will not stomach keeping score.”

Jaime sipped his ale, washing down the bland potatoes.

“Each of us at this table has fought for one army or another, has hurt another’s family. Your sister and her son murdered my father. Lady Brienne executed Stannis Baratheon. I betrayed Tormund and his king, who in turn killed my Black brothers when they charged the Wall. You, Ser Jaime, pushed my brother from a window.” Jon took a deep breath, as if he were contemplating which fact to spew next. “Your sister –”

“Jon, please,” Sansa begged faintly, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. The terror in her voice sent a chill down the back of Jaime’s neck, and Brienne noticeably sat even taller.

“My little sister poisoned Cersei,” he finished. “You should know whom you are fighting alongside, my lords.”

Jaime felt his blood run cold, and he turned his head to meet Sansa’s light eyes, which sparkled with what he thought to be tears. He knew this girl’s fury undoubtedly deserved satisfaction, but he had sworn his sword to her, to his twin’s killer. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Jaime would have murdered Cersei had he been given the chance. After all, she had been _his_ to smother. His face must have gone white, for they all had stopped their eating, save Tormund, who tore into his second chunk of bread.

“Arya,” Brienne clarified, her steady voice a light in his clouded mind. “It was Arya.” He turned to concentrate on her apologetic stare. Her eyes were now the color of Tarth’s sapphire waters.

He had believed the girl dead. No one had seen Arya since her father’s execution. But before Jaime could process his disbelief, Jon’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“I am a Targaryen.”

Jaime stiffened.

“I am a Stark,” the King continued. “I’m a Lannister, and I’m a wildling. I’m a Snow, a Stone, a Sand – none of these names have any meaning to those who are coming. We are living men and women, and every body we bury is another warrior for _them_.” Jon looked to Tyrion once more. “I need you to share my feelings with your queen. Treaties, families, grudges… these mean nothing to the dead.” Jon Snow tore his bread in half. “Of course we’ll deliver provisions. I’ll send a raven to both Lord Seasmoke and Lord Glover.”

“Queen Daenerys thanks you for your assistance. The exchange is as good as made.”

Jaime thought it difficult to breathe, and the room felt particularly warm. He loosened the neck of his tunic. Brienne’s concerned eyes sat heavily upon him, and he believed he might drown.

“You should know there have been attacks on the Wall,” Jon stated. “I’ve already dispatched men to aid the Night’s Watch. I expect to send more and to go myself. If I could have you bring your dragon, to visit the men briefly –”

“Pardon me, King Snow,” Jaime said as he stood from the table. “If you’ll excuse me. I think it best that I get some air.” 

Jon’s face displayed only sympathy. “Of course, Ser Jaime.”

Without another word, Jaime left the room.

++


	12. Chapter 12

**Brienne**

The wind had subsided, and the dragon had yet to return, leaving Winterfell soundless as sizeable snowflakes fell from the sky. Each caught the light of the full moon, which peeked from behind gray clouds. The glow gave the castle a deceptive sense of peace.

Although most everyone else was inside enjoying dinner or readying for bed, here Brienne stood where she believed she would always – near Jaime Lannister. She’d found him in the Godswood, beneath the twisted branches of the heart tree and staring at its warped face. With sagging shoulders, she thought he looked a crestfallen, golden god – a sunburst upon the fresh powder.

“Do you know Northmen believe their cruel gods watch them through these faces?” he asked, motioning to the weirwood with his gold hand.

“I do,” Brienne replied plainly and pulled her furs tighter as she walked closer to him, her boots sinking with every step.

Jaime pursed his lips slightly, his sight still on the carved grimace. “I’m certain Ned Stark spent _hours_ here, self-righteously anticipating winter. Do you believe he anticipated what his daughters would one day be capable of?”

“I’m sure he had hoped they’d survive, just as any father would.” There was nothing she could say to ease his quiet anger, but Brienne tried anyway. “I’m sorry, Jaime. It was not for me to tell you of Arya.”

“How long have you known?” Jaime finally looked to her, his eyes filled with rage. “And had Sansa ordered the assassination?”

“I learned of it the morning of Sansa’s wedding and she the night before. Arya acted of her own volition.” Brienne dared to take another step toward him. “I know the Starks ask much of you.”

“The Starks?” His mouth molded into a wry smile Brienne did not like. He resembled his sister with his lips curved in such a manner, and it made her stomach lurch.

She lowered her gaze for a moment, away from him and to her reflection in the hot spring. “Forgiveness comes at a heavy cost, and yet I beg that you forgive the girl.”

“And if it were Stannis, you would forgive? Or would it have still been your sword which carried out his sentence, my lady?”

Brienne stood tall, meeting his fury with her own. “You know it’s not the same. Renly was _good_.” She then readied for a cutting remark to pass his lips, discrediting her or the love she’d had for her king.

But it never came. Instead, Jaime’s expression softened, and he sighed loudly. “The little she-wolf only accomplished what I should have.” He eyed her, almost as if to memorize something of her massive form, and despite their discourse and her better judgment, she found his gaze a welcomed warmth in the night. “I should have followed you, Brienne. I should have left Riverrun by your side.”

Her lips trembled. “You needed to protect your family.”

“Family,” he repeated with disdain. “It took me a long time to understand blood doesn’t mean a damn if there is no trust.” Jaime straightened and pulled Lady Knight from his hip, propping the blade in the snow. “Neither of us is wearing our family cloak, but I suppose we’ll have to make due.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows in confusion.

“Ser Jaime Lannister comes before the Gods to be wed,” he proclaimed, his grin dangerous and his eyes gleaming. “Who comes to claim me?”

She placed her hands on her hips, annoyed. “What in Seven Hells are you doing?”

“I’m getting married, and it’s your line.”  

“Jaime – ”

He chuckled. “This is where you say  _your_  name.”

With a shake of her head, she demanded, “Stop being ridiculous. Why do you insist on mocking the Gods? On mocking me?”

“I do no such thing. I love you, and if you’ll have me, we can lawfully marry here and now before this ugly tree.”

“You what?”

He swallowed and licked his lips, the same lips she’d tasted twice now. “I’m no prize, and I’ve made it clear that I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve the way you look at me, but it’s all I want to wake to every morning. I don’t deserve the adulation in your voice when you speak my name, but I want to hear you say it for the rest of my life.”

“Jaime…”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Just like that.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Do you need repeating?” He took a step closer to her, his sword still in his palm. “Ser Jaime Lannister, discharged kingsguard and penniless son of Casterly Rock, comes before the Gods – the Old and the New – to be wed.” The moonlight graced his features, highlighting his cheekbones and the glitter of his green eyes, and the snowfall only added to his elegance.

Brienne did her best to ignore the heat in her cheeks and the fire in her stomach, but it was difficult to breathe.

He asked again, his voice deepening, “Do you come to claim me?”

The question sent a shiver down her spine, and a weakness came to her knees. Each syllable seemed to linger upon her skin, the sentence leaving a trail of fiery kisses as it made its way into her mind to swirl behind her eyes and into her blood.

Jaime wanted to marry  _her_?

The child Brienne once was had wished for a knight to whisk her away, to think her worthy of love, but she’d quickly discovered marriage to be a trap, a pair of shackles meant to condemn a woman to waste her days inside a keep or to die in the birthing bed. But Jaime had no intention of ensnaring her – he’d gifted Brienne beautiful armor and a priceless sword to defend both their honors because he’d believed in _her_.

Now, Jaime hungrily awaited her answer. He wanted her. He loved her.

And Brienne loved him. She’d known for a long while. Even now, the memory of Jaime in his handsome, white cloak still kept her warm on the coldest nights.

“Yes.” She pulled Oathkeeper from its sheath and also propped the blade in the snow. “Brienne of Tarth,” she declared, her voice carrying farther than she’d expected. “Daughter of Selwyn and sworn sword of Princess Sansa Stark. I come to claim you, Jaime. I claim a man of honor.”

++

**Tyrion**

“So, you want Viserion at the Wall?” Tyrion sipped his ale, waiting for one of the other three men to speak.

Ser Davos nodded. “Aye. It may be what’s best for morale. If our men see we have a dragon as cavalry and believe the kingdom is more or less unified – ”

“When can your queen send another?” Jon interrupted. “How soon before she can send men to the Wall?”

Tyrion wrinkled his brow. “How much do you think we’re capable of, King Snow? The Riverlands remain uncontrollable, and though we’ve sent forces to bring order, it will take time.”

“If we’re attacked from the north and outnumbered, as I suspect we are, the Riverlands are doomed anyway, and your queen will rule a dead kingdom.” Jon’s dark eyes briefly darted to Sansa before adding, “I would be grateful if you and I could take your dragon beyond the Wall. I need you to see what I’ve seen.”

“I believe you when you say wights exist, Snow.”

The wildling slammed his stein atop the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Seeing is believing, little man,” he stated and shrugged off Sansa’s scowl. “Jon and I are the only two here who have fought the dead. We’ve seen the Night King, and the sooner you burn him and his army with your dragon’s fire, the better we’ll all be.”

“Where does he get his bodies?”

“From the dirt,” Tormund spat. “We die. They rise.”

“But only beyond the Wall. Have we seen them rise here?” He couldn’t help imagining his father with vacant eyes, dried blood upon his mouth, and pale hands wrapped around Tyrion’s own neck. His throat tightened with the thought of frozen fingers bruising his skin.

Jon shrugged. “No. Not yet.”

“Well, I cannot envision these white walkers passing through the Wall if the gates are sealed. They’d have to climb it.”

“We’ve done it,” Jon confirmed, looking to Tormund. “And the dead do not tire.”

Tyrion scratched his beard as he struggled to recall his childhood readings. He stared into his mug, at the ale sitting at the bottom, as if the memories swam there. “It is not constructed of ice alone, am I correct? If stories of giants and Others are true, then the magic must be true as well. They couldn’t pass.”

“Unless they mean to destroy it,” Sansa remarked. Her gentle hand moved to rest on Tyrion’s forearm as she spoke to her brother. “Do you think they could? If spells erected the Wall, then, logically, spells could undo it.”

Ser Davos answered in his stead, “I’ve seen magic, my lady. The good and the bad.” The glint in the man’s eye when he glanced at his king struck Tyrion as odd. “Granted, what I saw was fire magic, but who is to say ice does not have a magic of its own?”

His wife tightened her grip slightly, and it sent a jolt through Tyrion. “You could go in a day’s time, once you and the dragon are both well-rested,” Sansa advised, her eyes hidden beneath long eyelashes. “I mean, I think it’d be best if you did see for yourself.”  

Tyrion nodded without much thought, as her soft plea was convincing enough. “I cannot guarantee he’ll allow it. You see, Viserion can be quite particular.”

Jon Snow gave a half smile and looked to his sleeping direwolf. “I know a bit about stubborn animals, my lord.”

“Nevertheless, I will formally introduce you on the morrow.” Tyrion finished his ale and stood from his seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I should look in on that very dragon.” He turned to his wife, only hesitating slightly. “Perhaps we should retire to your chambers afterward?”

“Of course.”

“Goodnight, gentlemen.” Tyrion left the Great Hall, passing unfamiliar, wooden archways. Much of Winterfell, he knew, had been rebuilt by both Bolton and Stark since the Ironborn had set it ablaze, and he tried not to think of the crippled Bran and wild Rickon, more children crushed by the game of thrones. The innocent always had the most to lose, and pups and cubs bled the same shade of red.

A small servant girl brought Tyrion his cloak before he strode onto the bridge connecting the Great Keep and the armory. He crossed the walkway quickly and noticed the snowfall to be much heavier than when he’d first arrived.

Despite its religious purpose, he found the Godswood quite beautiful. A fresh blanket of snow had settled upon the last, and the large, ivory weirwood commanded its space with crimson covered branches clawing at the sky. It was a marvelous shock against the whiteness. Steam arose from the hot spring as snowflakes melted instantly, a small reminder of his pleasant bath earlier in the evening.

Tyrion stopped when he realized he was not alone. Though Viserion was nowhere to be seen, the Maid of Tarth and his brother stood beside the heart tree, their hands joined.

“Father. Smith. Warrior,” they recited in unison. “Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am yours and you are mine.” Jaime moved closer to the lady knight, bringing his left hand to the nape of her neck, and kissed her.

Tyrion grinned to himself and averted his eyes, to give the newlyweds a moment of privacy. He hadn’t even heard Sansa join him until she stooped to match his height.

“Wisest maneuver he’s made. Wouldn’t you agree, husband?” she asked, a smirk tugging at her pink lips. Her ice-blue eyes shone in a way he’d never seen. “I may be the first in history to have a married pair of sworn swords.” Like the weirwood of her home, Sansa was a flame against the pale night.

Tyrion wanted to kiss her. “Winter becomes you, Sansa. I don’t think I could find it in my heart to tear you away from the North if I needed to.” 

A thin line replaced her smile. “You mean that? Truly?”

“I know we haven’t had the chance to discuss settling.”

“We don’t know if we’ll live through this war, Tyrion. I’m needed here, just as you’re needed at King’s Landing.” Sansa reached to him, adjusting his collar. “Let us not put more pressure upon ourselves than necessary. You care for me. I care for you. Jon and Daenerys have a truce, and that is enough, for now.”

Tyrion brushed a loose strand behind her ear and lifted her hood to shield her fiery hair from the snow. “You are an impressive woman, Sansa Stark.”

Her smile returned. “It pleases me that you think so.”

“I mean what I say. You’re bold and pragmatic.” Before he could continue singing her praises, Jaime and his blushing bride had joined them. As Sansa stood, Tyrion greeted the newlyweds. “Brother. My lady. What brings you to the Godswood on this snowy evening?”

Jaime’s proud grin stretched from ear to ear. “An impromptu ceremony. I’d like to present my wife, Brienne of Tarth.”

Sansa swiftly took the lady knight’s hands into her own, holding them tightly. “Oh Brienne, you two make a valiant couple.” She rose to her toes and planted a small kiss upon the woman’s cheek. “Very few are fortunate enough to marry for love, and I can think of no one more deserving.” After turning to face Jaime, Sansa gripped his cloak and warned, “If you break her heart, I will break your bones and feed you to Ghost.” She then kissed Jaime’s cheek as well.

Tyrion couldn’t help laughing. “I think the occasion calls for wine.” 

“Lord husband, I find it difficult to name an instance you believe _unfit_ for wine.”

++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, readers. I'm so sorry these last few chapters have been taking forever.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sansa**

The Great Hall had been abandoned though its fire still blazed, and it hadn’t taken long to discover a few bottles of red. Now they sat, sipping a vintage Sansa thought tasted of southern berries and wondered from whom they’d acquired it. After only a cup, she felt the wine in her cheeks and had to unfasten the buttons at her neck, conscious of Tyrion’s interest in her movements. He’d finished his third, and his eyes now possessed a glassiness.

The Kingslayer, with no sense of propriety in regards to his lady of Tarth, rested his only hand shamelessly upon her knee. Jaime leaned into Brienne to murmur against her ear, immediately prompting his bride’s blush. The color ran thickly across her face and neck, and Sansa couldn’t help grinning. Brienne was worthy of devotion, love, and desire. And she’d found a man smart enough to know these truths.       

Sansa drank again from her chalice before needling, “Should I take offense to secrets at my table, even if between husband and wife?” When she glanced to Tyrion, he offered a teasing frown.

“I’m afraid my whispers would only embarrass Brienne,” Jaime stated, his gaze never leaving his wife’s. “You see, blue is a fetching color on her – brings out her eyes. I simply pondered the strength of my friendship with the Dragon Queen. Brother, do you think she would send a set of blue, silk sheets from Essos as a wedding gift?”

As Brienne’s flush deepened, Tyrion chortled and arched his thick eyebrows with doubt. “You may have a better chance of receiving a dragon.”  

Jaime laughed as well. “No matter. Announcements sent to every corner of Westeros will suffice. I want each of the seven kingdoms to know we’ve married.”

Brienne’s bright eyes sparkled. “Perhaps I could send a letter to Tarth beforehand?” she suggested with a tiny shrug. “I’d like to write my father before he hears it from someone else.”

Having imagined what her mother had felt upon receiving news of her first marriage to Tyrion, Sansa could only assume the Evenstar would feel similarly. After all, who would willingly marry a Lannister?  

“Of course.” Jaime took her large hand into his own, his thumb brushing along her knuckles. “If we were closer –”

“You don’t have to say it, Jaime.”.

He narrowed his sharp eyes. “Yes, I believe I do. I would have told your father of our marriage in person, and I would have repeated the promises I made to you so your entire island knew of them. I still hope to one day.”

With a broad smile, Brienne finished her wine and rose. “Lady Sansa, if my husband and I may be excused, I believe we have a conversation to conclude.” Jaime’s raised eyebrow did nothing to curtain her meaning.

“I’m sure you have much to speak of.” Sansa folded her hands. “I will tell my brother you plan to break your fast in your chambers. I’ll also ask that you are not to be disturbed before lunch. Podrick will have to find someone else to spar.”

Jaime stood as well, perhaps even taller than he did before. “You have my thanks, Princess,” he said and bowed slightly. “Although I owe you much, much more.”

“For now, all I require is that you have a good night.”

Brienne also bowed. “Goodnight, my lady. Lord Tyrion.” With that, the bride and groom strolled away, their hands intertwined.

Tyrion immediately poured them each another cup. “You and I should follow their example soon.” She eyed him skeptically, and he raised his hands in defence. “I meant to bed, _to sleep,_ because it’s quite late.”  

With a smirk, she told, “I’m not particularly fatigued, though I understand if you are.”

He slowly shook his head, his glazed eyes focused on hers. “I will never be too tired, Sansa.”

Her lower lip found itself caught between her teeth. “Should we not wait for your dragon? He’s been gone for several hours now.”

“Dragons are very much their own keepers. Viserion is no more mine than I am his, though I suppose he wouldn’t entirely agree.” Tyrion took her hand into his own, softly brushing her palm with his thumb in a circular pattern. She watched his mindless motions knowing the wine was no longer the only culprit for the heat in her cheeks. If they were anywhere else, Sansa would have asked Tyrion to his knees.

Before she could reach for her husband and run her fingers through his wild curls, a wolf howled loudly from just outside the castle. Sansa pulled from Tyrion’s grasp and stood from her seat.

The large, wooden door crashed open, and she flinched despite herself. It was Jon who barreled through with a limp body in his arms as Ghost and another direwolf flanked him. The grey she-wolf panted as it padded inside, eyeing them distrustfully.

As her brother lay the slender boy upon the floor, he called to Sansa. “He’s freezing! We need a maester, now!” Without hesitation, Sansa grabbed their discarded cloaks and raced to him, her husband on her heels.

“Nymeria found him,” a voice said from the doorway as Sansa kneeled to drape the furs upon the boy. Arya slipped into the Hall, her hair disheveled and face red from the cold. “We got him here as fast as we could. He keeps mumbling.”

She looked from Arya, then to Jon, and then to the boy. The dark hair, the thick eyebrows, and the curve of his mouth were all so familiar.

“Bran?” Tyrion realized aloud.

As if a candle had lit within her, Sansa gasped. Her baby brother lay upon the floor of their home, two feet taller than when last she’d seen him, and his eyes were abnormally wide and white. She gripped his icy hand, bringing it to her cheek.

“I’ll fetch help,” her husband assured, but before he could, long fingers clasped his wrist.

Bran’s brown eyes suddenly appeared, the milky glaze having melted away. “I”m sorry,” he muttered to Tyrion. “Your dragon is lost to us.”

“How could you… Viserion is hunting, my friend, and he’s known to stray for hours at a time.”

“No, Lord Tyrion,” Bran insisted. “He now serves the Night King. I saw it.” Her younger brother then turned to Jon. “You are so much more than you know, brother.”

“We’ll talk once you’re warm.” Jon brushed Bran’s hair from his forehead, forcing a smile. “So much has happened, but you are home now.”

Ghost stretched to lay beside Bran, resting his head atop him as if to share his heat.  

“It’s the Wall,” he croaked. Still clutching Tyrion, Bran brought his other hand to Jon’s shoulder. “It collapsed. _He_ destroyed it, and they’re coming. _He’s_ coming for us all.”

Sansa fell into a sitting position, the breath knocked from her lungs. Arya squatted beside her and carefully placed a hand on her back.

Nymeria wailed again, her bellowing echoing through the halls of Winterfell and shaking Sansa to the core, unearthing a helplessness from within that she had never wanted to relive.

“Who’s coming?” Arya demanded, her stormy eyes brimming with ire. “We’ll fight them, whoever they are.”

“Brother,” Jon said with his stare now on Tyrion. “I need you to write your queen. We need her dragons.”   

Another howl, and Winterfell finally awoke.

++ END ++

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this long ride. I apologize this chapter was delayed and is shorter than the others. 
> 
> Like Sansa, I hope I did not disappoint.


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